Beyond Normandy
by Imjusthere61944
Summary: The Battle for Normandy has ended. The battle for Europe has just begun. The newly promoted James Doyle is dropped into Holland during Operation Market Garden, while Jack "Nichols" must fight his way through Belgium during the Battle of the Buldge. Follow both men as they fight not only the enemy, but themselves as well. A CoD 3 fanfic.
1. Prologue

Beyond Normandy

Prologue

Uncommon valor

_August 20, 1944. Chambois, France_

Private Jack "Nickels" Nicholas sat inside what remained of bombed out house in a section of courtyard that looked out onto the French country side. Currently, hundreds of murderous German soldiers were pouring out of that country side toward the American positions. Nickels, Salvatore Guzzo, and Leroy Huxley all crouched inside the house as gunshots ricochet all around them.

"What the Hell's going on out there!" Guzzo shouted over the din.

"I can't see shit; they could be overrunning us for all I know" Nickels shouted back to his commander (the private first class was pretty much acting commander now that Dixon was dead).

A sudden explosion rocked the unstable structure, causing the three close friends to grasp their helmets and cringe.

"What the Hell was that?" Huxley screamed over the ringing that was reverberating in all three men's ears.

"The Gerry's brought in a goddamn tank!" one of the soldiers shouted from the upper floor.

"A tank! Great, that'll tear us to pieces" Salvatore said in despair.

Nickels managed to peek outside through one of the house windows. He saw that MG fire from the tank was indeed chewing up the few Americans left defending the line of sandbags that stood between the massive German onslaught and the city; the last hole in the Gap. However, his spirits lifted when he caught sight of a Pak 43 anti-tank gun sitting off to the far left of the line. Without really thinking about it, Nickels stood up and bolted out the house door into the onslaught of fire that was crisscrossing the courtyard. He could here Guzzo calling his name, but he stayed on target.

It was bad. Three armored cars had take up position on a hill just past the small wall that separated the German line from the American one, and their machine guns were peppering the line. This was intermingled with the fire that came from the German soldiers who were hiding behind walls and trees and other forms of cover. They were shooting with everything from bolt-action rifles and semi-automatic Gewehrs 43s, to fully automatic MP40s and StG 44s. A Tiger Tank had taken position at the top of a small knoll, and was drilling the area with its MG. Bullets from all of these dangers pounded all around Nickels as he ran across the courtyard to the Pak. Trying not to be unsettled by the enormous amount of fire, the soldier kept his head down and stared at the ground; although this was obviously ineffective due to his view of all the bullets hitting the ground in front of him giving him a pretty good idea of how many people were shooting at him.

It was probably only thirty seconds later, although to Nickels it seemed like thirty years, that he reached the Pak 43 and set down his M1 Garand before taking up a position behind it. Some of the Germans had obviously noticed him, since several shots pinged off the metal flap that stuck up from the top of the ant-tank gun. The aiming system was a little awkward, but the iron sights were easy enough to align, and Nickels began attempting to aim at one of the armored cars. This seemed fruitless however, as the gun was extremely heavy. Suddenly, to Nickels great surprise, Huxley appeared and grasped the other leg of the gun.

"Looked like you could use some help Nickels" he observed in an almost cheerful tone.

The latter nodded to his comrade gratefully before pulling with all his might. This time the gun moved, albeit slowly, and, with a little effort, they managed to align the sights with their target: the first armored car. With not a moment to lose Nickels grasped the firing cord in his hand and pulled as hard as he could.

"KAVOOOM!" the shell shot forth from the gun and slammed mercilessly into the first armored car, causing the vehicle to burst into flames. Huxley and Nickels gave a cheer before preparing to load another round. Nickels pulled back the hatch to the gun chamber, allowing the old shell to fall out. Huxley turned and was surprised to see Guzzo standing behind him with a new 88mm shell in hand.

"Can't let you guys work a German AT gun all on your own, can I?" he shouted over the din before handing the shell to Huxley.

Leroy nodded to Guzzo appreciatively before handing the shell off to Nickels, who loaded it into the gun quickly. He and Huxley then aimed the gun at the second armored car and fired. The same process was repeated for the third armored car. They were just preparing another shell when Huxley caught sight of a group of Germans hopping over the low wall and charging toward the AT gun position. To his horror, the southerner realized that all other U.S. soldiers in the courtyard had been killed or had retreated to the surrounding houses and were providing a thin and ill aimed covering fire.

"Guzzo, they're comin right at us!" he shouted.

Nickels caught sight of the group and picked up his M1 Garand which was still sitting on the ground next him. Without hesitation (he had a lot of practice at it) he aimed and fried on the group of four Germans advancing toward them. The soldier fired every last shot until a ping was heard, and the old clip was ejected from the top of his rifle. All four Germans fell dead. Once more without hesitating, Nickels dropped his rifle and went back to aiming the Pak 43 at their next target: the Tiger Tank.

"KAVOOOM!" a shell struck the front of the tank, but it did not burst into flame like the armored cars, but instead only shook a little. The tanks turret suddenly changed position from aiming at a house in front of it to the AT position the three friends were occupying.

"He's gonna get us!" shouted Huxley.

"Hand me another goddamn shell" Nickels shouted to Guzzo who, despite the circumstances, complied.

With a speed that was enviable by any AT gun crew, Jack loaded in the shell and fired at the tank once more. This time a great explosion burst from the vehicle, throwing its turret up into the air, which then crashed onto the ground next to its flaming body.

"Yeaaaaah!" both Guzzo and Huxley shouted as they watched the remains of the Tiger Tank burn.

Unfortunately, a number of German soldiers were, at this point, hopping the wall and dashing toward the group, murder in their eyes. Nickels saw this and picked up his rifle, only to remember that it was out of ammo. The three men braced themselves for the attack when BAR shots suddenly rang out. Several Germans fell dead, and the three temporary AT crewmen looked over to their right and saw a group of U.S. soldiers making their way out of one of the houses and firing on the enemy.

With a triumphant cry of their own, the no longer pinned down U.S. soldiers began pushing back the Krauts. Nickels was digging around in his satchel and at last found his extra clip, which he quickly jammed into his Garand. He looked up, and his heart sank. Two Panzer IVs had taken up positions on either side of the destroyed Tiger.

"Where did they come from" he thought, but what he said was "how many shells we got left?"

"Only two left" Guzzo called back.

"Shit" Nickels thought desperately, for not only was that not enough shells to take down both Panzer IVs, one of the tanks was taking aim at their position.

"Brace yourselves" Guzzo shouted to his men, seeing the tank as well.

There was indeed an explosion, but not from a tank shell. A Thunderbolt dive-bomber had suddenly flown in and destroyed one of the Panzers. More followed, peppering the entire area in machine gun fire and bombs. Every soldier in the courtyard gave a mighty yell as the barrage continued for several minutes. Then, all went quite. The sounds of moaning from wounded soldier, both German and American could be heard, but no sounds of gun fire. A thick haze of smoke shrouded the countryside just beyond the wall. As this screen began to fade, Nickels could make out movement. He immediately raised his rifle into firing position. One of the figures moved into view.

"Hold your fire" a solder shouted.

The reason for this was clear. The German soldier who had moved into view was not armed and was holding his hands in the air. This soldier was followed by others, all of whom were holding their hands in the air in surrender.

"We did it, they're surrendering" Nickels shouted in amazement, "They give up!"

* * *

_August 22, 1944. Chambois, France._

Nickels sat on a pile of boxes looking down, as best he could, at his new stripes. It really felt no different, being a Corporal. Still, it gave him a sense of pride.

"Still getting used to the new stripe?" asked Guzzo as he approached his friend, a wide smile on his face.

"Yes sir, _sergeant_" the latter replied with a smile of his own.

They laughed, the kind of laugh you have after surviving a massive battle. The kind of laugh that you get from the realization that you were living to breath another day.

"Hey you two, c'mon we're moving out" shouted a sergeant who was standing near a truck that was parked just outside the camp.

Huxley was already waiting in the covered truck when they two got in. "Well if it ain't my commanding officers" he greeted them sardonically, though in good humor.

"I wouldn't complain if I were you hayseed. After all, you turned down the promotion from what I hear" Guzzo pointed out.

"Some of us don't mind not having to worry about looking after a bunch of Privates that are probably gonna die anyway" the southerner replied with a chuckle.

No sooner were these words out of his mouth, then a group of new arrivals climbed onto the truck. Nickels and Huxley exchanged glances as, once all the Privates were onboard; Guzzo got up on the back and at first only looked around at the new arrivals.

"I'm Guzzo" he began "one rule: you're no good to me dead" and without another word, he stepped off the truck and headed up to the front of the truck.

"What kind of pep talk was that?" one of the Privates said incredulously.

"You want inspiration Private? Read a poem" Huxley shot back.

Nickels grinned at the angry look on the man's face who didn't say anything to Huxley.

"This is the part where you tell em about the donuts" Nickels whispered to Leroy, who grinned widely.

* * *

_August 22, 1944. Near Les Ormes, France_

Sergeant James Doyle watched as his commanding officer, Major Gerald Ingram, was talking with an American Major who had arrived in the town with a battalion of U.S. soldiers only a few days ago. The word had come down that the remaining Germans in Northern France had either surrendered or retreated. Now, he and Corporal Collin Keith were watching the two officers discuss what to do next.

"You will be moving on soon I imagine" observed Pierre LaRoche, French Resistance fighter who had been helping the British SAS men over the last few weeks.

"Aye, it looks that way" Keith agreed with a nod.

"What will 'appen to Miss DuFontaine?" Doyle inquired.

"She will be taken home, to be given a proper burial" the voice of Marcel broke in. He was a tall gruff man with a stubble of a beard forming around his mouth.

"I 'ope she finds peace" Keith whispered. This was a little unlike the Corporal. He had been rather biased toward the French resistance fighters, but since Isabelle's death, he had softened toward them considerably.

Suddenly, Major Ingram nodded to the American Major before heading toward his squad. "Well lads, looks like we're done here. We have orders to head to Cherbourg and then back to Britain" he announced to his squad, "we're moving out in two hours".

Ingram headed off, presumably to arrange transportation for his squad. Keith said nothing, but got up and walked toward one of the American soldiers who were handling a cot on which Isabelle's body had been placed. Doyle watched him as he offered to assist the soldiers who seemed happy to receive his aid. He then turned to Pierre who still stood behind him.

"Well, I guess this is goodbye then" said the British soldier.

"It was an honor Sergeant" the French men replied, saluting his comrade in arms.

Meanwhile, Keith was helping load Isabelle's body onto a jeep. He had just finished when he saw Marcel watching the process. When they finished, Keith approached the Frenchman.

"I'd be there if I could" said the Scotsman.

"Her spirit shall live on in the hearts of the free French people" Marcel replied quietly.

"Aye, that it will Marcel, that it will".


	2. Chapter 1

_Hello folks. Couple of things I found out: first, Nickel's nickname is spelled Nichols, sorry about that. Second, Guzzo's name is Salvadore, not Salvatore, so sorry about that to. Anyway, read and review. I like feedback (it also lets me know you're actually reading). Cheers. _

* * *

Chapter 1

Prelude to history

_December 12, 1944. Near Wiltz, Luxembourg. _

Nichols was looking at the cloud that burst forth from his mouth with every breath he exhaled as the truck he was riding in along with several other soldiers drove down the snowy road toward his new post, the town of Wiltz. The group had ridden in silence, but now two Privates sitting across from Nichols were talking quietly.

"I heard we smashed through the Siegfried line up north or somethin like that" whispered the first soldier.

"Yeah, they took Aachen two months ago, didn't you hear?" the other replied.

"The way they talk, you'd figure the war'll be over in a few days" Huxley muttered next to Nichols.

"They're new, they don't get how this all works yet" he whispered back to his friend.

"You got something to say tough guy" said a voice, drawing both men's attentions back to the two Privates across from them.

One of the new recruits had an annoyed look on his face, and was looking directly at Jack and Leroy.

"Yeah, get a better attitude with your superiors, Boot" Nichols growled back, flashing his stripes at the Private.

The recruit became wide eyed upon seeing Nichol's rank. "I apologize, sir. I didn't mean…." He began, but Huxley cut him off.

"All the same, them Boots; you hit em on the nose and they whimper like puppies" the southerner chided with a laugh.

This seemed to irritate the Private, who scowled at Huxley. "You're the exact same rank as me, so I wouldn't be talkin" he shot at the Louisianan.

"Boot, I got more experience is this line a work then you could get in day, so I'd shut up if I was you"

"What's your name Private?" Nichols asked suddenly, interrupting the confrontation between the two southern men (for the Private was clearly a southerner based on his accent).

"Ballard, Christopher Ballard" the man replied. He was a short guy with reddish hair that stuck out from underneath his helmet, giving him a rather awkward look.

"Thought they gave all you new boys haircuts" Huxley observed.

"Well, they didn't. Guess they didn't think they had the time" Ballard replied bluntly.

"Where you from, as long as we're bothering to get acquainted" asked Nichols, shooting a look at Huxley.

"Tennessee" was the reply.

"Kelly, Stephen Kelly, I'm from Connecticut" the Private who Ballard had been talking to earlier broke in suddenly. This man was a little taller than Ballard, with no visible hair, though he wore a pair of wire rimmed glasses.

"Great, now I got two names I gotta forget" Jack rolled his eyes.

They didn't say anything else until their truck pulled into a small camp consisting of several lines of tents and a few scattered structures. The houses of a village only about a half mile away could easily be seen from the camp. The truck parked just in front of a line of tents that were white from the snow. The front door to the truck slammed and Major Holden appeared at the opening in the back of the truck. He unlocked the bottom ramp and opened it before stepping back.

"Alright, everyone out, c'mon!" he shouted, and the soldiers inside the truck swiftly complied.

Once the new arrivals had all unloaded, they were led to a tent a ways down from the truck and lined up in a single line (there really wasn't that many of them). A man with the stripes of a Colonel exited the tent and stood before the group.

"My name is Colonel Cullman!" the man announced to the group, "I'm in charge of this command group! Let's get one thing strait right away…" he paused to look around at the new arrivals, "…you are in the Kingdom of Luxembourg, the town that you can see from here is the town of Wiltz! Now, for those of you who may be hoping to see some action, you may as well try a different camp! We're a good ten miles from the German border, and what lies beyond there is just German training facilities! We are gonna see much action, I can promise you that! No Aachen for us, you're just gonna have to get used to that! Meantime, you will be divided up into new squads and assigned tents! That is all!"

The line of soldiers saluted their CO who returned to his tent. Major Holden stepped in front of the group carrying a clip board.

"When your name is called, you will step forward. Once your squad has been assembled, you will be given your tent" the Major explained before beginning, "Private John Harold" a man near the left end of the line stepped forward.

"Private Fred Linus" another man stepped forward, and so on until there was a group of five men standing in front of the line.

"Alright then, Squad Abel will be assigned to tent 15" Holden told the men.

After these men headed to their tent, the Major started the process again: "Private Leroy Huxley, Corporal Jack Nicholas, Sergeant Salvador Guzzo…" the three friends stepped forward and smiled slightly at one another, however, the Major continued, "Private Stephen Kelly" Kelly stepped forward, "and Private Chris Ballard" Huxley's face gave away his disgust at the revelation that they would be staying in the same tent as Ballard. "Tent 17" Holden told them.

"Great, just great, we're stuck with a couple of Boots" Huxley growled angrily as the group made their way to the assigned tent.

"I think it's a miracle that the three of _us _are staying in the same tent" Nichols pointed out.

"A miracle, or just knowing the right guys" Guzzo replied with a smile.

"I'm freezing" complained Kelly when they reached their tent.

It was small space with two bunk beds and a cot. Huxley immediately put his knapsack on the bottom bunk of one of the beds. "Me an Nichols'll take this one. You Boots can have the other bunk" he announced.

Ballard didn't look to happy at the obvious discrimination. He said nothing though, but instead set his own pack on the bottom bunk of the other bed.

"I'm freezing" Kelly repeated once more.

"Yeah well, tell it to someone who gives a damn" Guzzo replied sharply.

"Amen, this place sure as Hell ain't Hell" Nichols said with a grin.

The three friends laughed, although the two new recruits stayed silent. Guzzo let out a sigh before collapsing on his cot. None of them had gotten much sleep since they had been pulled from their R&R in Paris. Huxley quickly followed suit. Not knowing what else to do, Nichols got on the top bunk of his bed and prepared to sleep himself.

"Why do they treat all the new guys like shit?" he heard Kelly whisper.

"Cause chances are you'll both be dead in a week" Jack called out in reply.

"But the Colonel said we ain't gonna see any action" Ballard pointed out.

"Not here maybe, but they ain't gonna keep us here for the whole war, Boot. Some time the army'll move into Germany and us with it. Trust me; there'll be plenty of chances for y'all to die" came Huxley's voice, although he was still facing the other way from the two recruits.

Nichols was still facing Kelly and Ballard however, and he saw the looks of indignation, but also fear, on both their faces.

"Plenty of chances for _them_ to die. Plenty of chances for all of us to die" he thought.

* * *

_September 10, 1944. London, England._

Major Ingram was inside a small, dimly lit room at a table with several other SAS officers. The officers were talking amongst themselves when General Roy Urquhart entered the room. Instantly all conversation in the room ceased. The General made his way to the table and set a file on the table before sitting down. The other officers were seated as soon as the General was and, after clearing his throat, Urquhart began.

"Gentlemen, you are here to be briefed on Marshal Montgomery's plan for the Holland Offensive. We shall be dropping three Airborne Divisions behind enemy lines in the Netherlands: The American 101st and 82nd Airborne Divisions and our own 1st Parachute Brigade. Each division is tasked with holding a strategic bridge along Highway 69. This will allow the XXX Corps to roll from Belgium to the Rhine in a few days. The objective is to outflank the Siegfried line and invade the Ruhr Valley. The Americans will be tasked with holding the bridges at the cities of Eindhoven and Nijmegen. Our "Red Devils" will be tasked with holding the bridge over the Rhine at Arnhem. Naturally, the SAS will play a crucial role in this operation. Several squads shall be dropped prior to the main forces and will be tasked with securing and holding landing zones for the main force of the 1st Parachute Brigade".

The General paused and looked down at the table briefly, before looking back up at the SAS officers. "Now Gentlemen, word is if "Operation Market Garden" is successful, this war could be over by Christmas. But I would not get my hopes up to high. We have a long way to go before we can rest. You have all been given copies of the plan to study, I suggest you get to it" and with that, Urquhart stood up. The officers all stood and saluted him, and then the General left.

Ingram was looking over his copy of Operation Market Garden with interest. "End the war by Christmas" the words repeated themselves in his mind.

"We can only hope, we can only hope"

* * *

Sergeant Doyle was sitting on his bunk at the Airbase he, Keith, and Ingram had been stationed at since their return from France. It had only been a few weeks, but word was they might be going back into combat again. Doyle let out a sigh. He had been fighting since 1941, and he was beginning to feel drained. He was still trying to gather his thoughts when a voice blared over the P.A. system.

"Sergeant James Doyle, please report to the Lounge immediately" the voice called.

Puzzled as to what he could be needed for in the Lounge, the base's version of a pub. Still, he got up and headed down the halls till he reached the dimly lit, smoke filled room. Normally the Lounge was crawling with officers and other off-duty airmen, but now it was mostly abandoned. The reason for this was apparent. Keith was standing in the middle of the now deserted room, a half empty bottle in one hand and his Webley revolver in the other.

"An then there was this time in France. I was hiding in this bush and a Gerry guard had the "misfortune" of walking past me in my position, so I took out me old Webley 'ere and BAM!" Keith, who was obviously very drunk, fired a shot at one of the bottles sitting on the shelf behind the bar. The bar tender (who was a woman named Rube) ducked slightly as the bottle of scotch behind her shattered in an explosion of liquor.

"Jesus Christ you crazy Scot; you're drunk of your arse! Put that thing away before yer hurt someone" Rube cried out, then she noticed Doyle. "Oh thank God you're 'ere Sergeant. I can't talk any sense to 'im" she called to him.

"Keith mate, what are you doin?" James called to his old friend, who turned to face him and smiled.

"I was just tellin the young lass 'ere about out time in France, Doyle" he replied with a drunk grin.

"Alright Keith, you've 'ad enough. C'mon" Doyle tried to sooth his friend as he took the bottle and revolver from the Scotsman's hands.

"Right, I believe I could use some sleep" Keith mumbled.

"You could also use 'aving your 'ead examined your crazy drunk" Rube shouted at the pair.

"Please deary, call me Duncan" the drunk replied to the barmaid, grinning even wider.

"C'mon mate" Doyle led the Sergeant (for he and Keith had both received promotions for their actions in France) back to their bunks.

Keith flopped onto his bunk, not even bothering to take off his shoes. "Thank you James" he mumbled, "thank you…." And with that he passed out.

Doyle sighed as he watched his friend sleep. Keith had not been the same since France. He had taken to drinking more than was good for him, and both Ingram and Doyle had noticed. Now, after looking back at Duncan one last time, James stood up and headed toward the bunkroom door. He was surprised when the door opened and Major Ingram entered.

"Major" he said in surprise.

"I heard there was some trouble with Sergeant Keith, is he alright?" the Major inquired anxiously.

"He 'ad a few sir, and…well…" Doyle couldn't bring himself to finish the sad story.

Ingram shook his head and sighed, "Damn it, I can't get him out of every spot of trouble he gets himself into".

"I know, sir"

The Major let out another sigh and looked at Doyle, "we're going into combat once more; a big operation in the Netherlands. I personally recommended you and Keith for the mission. I don't need him making a fool of himself" he continued in a low voice.

"Back into combat? But sir…" the Lieutenant began to protest, but fell silent.

"What is it Doyle?" Ingram asked with a raised eyebrow.

"It's just that, I've been fighting for three years now sir. I just don't know if I got anything left in me" the latter explained.

Ingram looked at him for a moment, and then placed a hand on the soldier's shoulder. "James, I trust you more than any other soldier in this division. We have been through a lot, you and me. I need your help one last time. If this operation is successful, it could all be over by Christmas" he replied.

Doyle looked into his commanding officer's eyes and saw the same tiredness that he felt, yet Gerald Ingram wasn't about to give up. Doyle nodded resolutely.

"I'll be there then, sir" he assured the Major, "I'll be there".


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2 

The calm before the storm

_December 15, 1944. Camp Cullman near Wiltz, Luxembourg_

Two days of living in Camp Cullman were enough to show Nichols just what a shit hole it was. The snow had continued ceaselessly since he and Huxley's arrival, and a large chunk of their three days at the camp had been spent clearing snow drifts from the road that led on to Wiltz. More than once Nichols had looked at the lights of the small town in the distance, and wished that he could go there. At least there would be a sturdy roof over his head (several tents had indeed collapsed from the weight of snow atop them) and a warm meal. But of course, he didn't get to go. The front line itself was said to be about two miles beyond Wiltz on the Odor River. Trucks carrying supplies and men would sometimes roll through the campo on their way up to the line.

The trucks were the reason why they had spent so much time shoveling the road. In order to try and minimize accidents, Colonel Cullman had a squad clear off as much snow as possible from the road after each snowfall. Often times, the soldiers would shovel the snow off to the side of the road, forming tight packed humps on either side, the idea being that if one of the trucks did lose control on the frozen road, it could crash into the, at least somewhat, cushiony snow with less threat to the driver. It didn't really make much sense to Nichols. After all, if the truck smashed headlong into a hard packed bank of snow at 40 miles an hour, the chances for the driver still didn't look very good. Despite these misgivings, he did as he was told and shoveled the road, which was exactly what he, Huxley, Kelly, and Ballard were doing that morning.

They shoveled away at the road, and as the morning war on, Nichols began to lose feeling in his hands. It was bitter cold out, and it had been so for several days. What was even worse was that the tent they were sleeping in provided almost no protection from the cold, and their blankets weren't that helpful either.

"I'm freezing" Kelly complained, stopping his shoveling and grasping at his back in pain.

"You ought to be thankful, Boot. Your war with the snow here ain't half as dangerous as the war with the Gerrys. Hell, least the snow don't shoot back" Huxley chided the recruit.

Ballard scowled at Huxley, "I ain't afraid of a little hard work. My dad own a car shop back home, I used to work in there all the time" he said with a touch of pride.

"Oh yeah, well I was in a line-up to go to Yale, so I'd say that makes me the smartest out of all you" Kelly shot at Ballard.

"How the Hell does a bookworm go from being on the Honor-roll, to shoveling snow in this shit hole?" Leroy asked with a derisive laugh.

Kelly's cheeks grew red with anger at Huxley's obvious making fun of him, "I was drafted alright. I didn't have a choice" he said angrily.

This caused latter to burst out laughing, "Drafted? Who the Hell gets drafted? That's just sad" Huxley derided Kelly even more.

Kelly didn't respond, but instead went back to shoveling, although Nichol's could hear the Private cursing Huxley under his breath. They continued to shovel in silence. Finally, after another hour of back breaking work, they were finished. Completely exhausted, the four men trudged back to their tent. Upon arriving, they all flopped down on their respective beds. Shortly after, Guzzo entered the tent.

"Hey, chow's on" he announced.

Ballard let out a groan "you mean that greasy shit they call beans? No thanks".

Kelly grinned, "I been saving something, and right now looks a like a nice time to eat it". The new recruit got off his bunk and began rifling through his pack. He did so for several minutes, but came up with nothing other than a puzzled expression.

"What the Hell, it's gone!" he exclaimed.

"What's gone?" inquired Nichols.

"The can of cherries my parents sent with me. It's gone! Where did they go!" Stephen got even angrier.

"I don't know where your cherries went, but if you don't hurry you guys are gonna miss chow" Guzzo reminded his quad.

Ballard left the tent first followed by the disheartened Kelly. Huxley and Nichols started to follow, but Guzzo put a hand on Huxley's chest and made him stop.

"Kelly may be new, but that doesn't give you the right to treat him like garbage, and it sure as shit doesn't give you the right to steal from him" the sergeant berated the southerner.

"I don't know what you're talking about sarge" Huxley said innocently.

"Don't fuck with me Leroy!" Guzzo shouted, "You stop treating the new guys like shit!"

"The Boot was drafted, sarge…drafted!"

"You were _arrested_!"

This caused Huxley to go quite. It was indeed true that Huxley had been a thief in Baton Rouge and, upon his arrest, was offered the choice of going to prison or going to prison. Really, it was nothing more than a different from of drafting. Huxley didn't say anything more, but moved past Guzzo and headed toward the mess tent. Nichols exchanged a glance with his sergeant before exiting the tent as well.

Guzzo took one last look around before heading over to his cot and reaching into his pack, from which he pulled out a can of cherries with a grin.

* * *

_September 14, 1944. Cherault Airfield, Northern France. _

The rumbling of the plane engines was almost deafening to Doyle as he sat on the crowded bench of a C47 Transport Aircraft. A red light turned on suddenly next to the door of the aircraft.

"Red light, everyone stand up!" shouted a sergeant, and all the soldiers on the plane did so before hooking their parachutes to the bar above them.

The sergeant opened the door and the cabin was instantly filled with the sound of the wind blowing by. After a few more minutes, the red light turned green.

"Go, go, go!" the sergeant shouted and, one by one, the paratroopers leapt out of the plane.

Doyle was near the back of the line, and with the experience of a man accustomed to leaping out of an airplane at several thousand feet, jumped without hesitation. He felt the jerk of his chute deploying and grasped firmly on the cord on either side of him. The Englishman looked below and saw his target. A space marked by a large white circle in the middle of Cherault Airfield. Doyle easily guided himself onto the target and laded with a gracefulness enviable by any other paratrooper. He had had plenty of practice at this. Once he had landed, the lieutenant swiftly removed his chute and readied his weapon. He was battle ready in easily ten seconds. Several of the new recruits were watching this, obviously impressed by Doyle's skill.

"I could do that" said one of the recruits with a laugh, "I could do that just as well. It isn't that difficult".

Doyle turned to face this man. "Yer could yer?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Aye sir, I think I could" the man repeated with a grin.

"Alright then, put yer chute on" the latter gestured toward the man's parachute on the ground.

Though he hesitated at first, the private picked up his parachute which lie next to him and put it on.

"The straps too lad" the lieutenant pointed out.

The recruit nodded and began hooking together the straps on the chute before picking up his Sten and hooking it up to his chute pack. When this was done who looked back up at Doyle, who drew his revolver. Though he saw a flicker of surprise cross the privates face, Doyle was impressed at how little fear the man showed.

"Right, you've just hit the ground. Ya got fifteen seconds to get off your chute an ready our weapon. Ready?" the man nodded, "go!"

The private began to swiftly work the buckles on his chute. While he was doing this however, Doyle aimed his revolver just above the recruit and fried. The private jumped, and stood motionless for a moment.

"Urry up!" James shouted, firing another shot over the man's head.

The private continued to try and remove his chute, but the lieutenant continued to fire shots over his head, causing the recruit to jump and fumble with his straps. Finally, after Doyle had fired off his last shot, the man gave up and simply stared at Doyle with a look of disbelief and perhaps slight indignation. The latter holstered his revolver once more and patted the private on the shoulder.

"No shame, son" he assured the recruit before turning to the other men who had been watching the scene.

"Get this through yer fat 'eads, the lot of ya. When you hit the ground, you will meet an enemy that will not hesitate to shoot at you just because you're not ready. Hell, he'll gladly kill you while you're still falling" Doyle shouted to the surrounding group, "you have to ready to fire off a shot as soon as you hit the ground, you have to grease your landing, and be battle ready in a 'eartbeat! You understand?"

The men all nodded, and Doyle turned back to the private that had attempted the chute trick.

"What's your name son?" he asked.

"Charlie Lovell, sir" the private replied.

"Private Lovell, eh?" the lieutenant said thoughtfully, "you show quite a bit of courage under fire Lovell. That's a good quality for a soldier"

"Thank you sir"

"Right, you're dismissed" Doyle shouted and the group dispersed.

James started heading back toward the main bunker when a voice called to him. "Got nothing better to do then terrorize the new recruits Lad?" it asked.

Doyle turned and grinned upon seeing Lieutenant Starkey, an old friend from his days in the RAF.

"Bob you old rat, are they lettin you come along on this one too?" the SAS man said with a laugh.

"Aye it would seem so. You haven't changed a bit, Doyle" Starkey replied with a grin of his own.

"Just showing the new men the ropes" the James explained.

"By scaring the shit out of 'em. Aye, that sounds reasonable" Bob replied sarcastically, though in good faith.

"Better they realize it now, then when the real enemy is the ones shooting at 'em"

"You're probably right mate. Well, I suppose we'll be seein one another on the ground"

"Aye. Good luck to you, lad"

"And you, Bob. And you".

* * *

_December 15, 1944. Camp Cullman, Luxembourg._

Colonel Cullman stood in his tent over a large map of the Ardennes area. He wasn't really paying much attention to the report being given by Major Holden.

"We've been receiving some reports from the front. Forward recon says that there have been some unusual buildups along the lines by the Germans" the Major continued.

"The 2nd division hit the Siegfried Line hard. Command said we should expect some sort of response. They're probably just trying to set up defensive positions" Colonel Cullman replied absentmindedly.

"Colonel with all due respect, this buildup seems a little…large…for a simple local offensive. I think it's something bigger" Holden replied in an anxious tone.

"What makes you say that Major?"

"We're vulnerable sir. This area is not well defended and…well…it's what I'd do"

"That's not solid evidence of a German "counteroffensive", Holden".

"I know sir, but…"

"Fine, put an extra man on watch if it helps you sleep better; it's not as though they're gonna see any action anyway" the Colonel said in exasperation.

"I hope you're right sir, I hope you're right" and with that, the Major left.

Cullman shook his head, "how paranoid can you get" he thought.


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Like a nightmare

_September 16, 1944. Cherault Airfield, France. _

It was mid-afternoon when Doyle and the other SAS men assembled on the airfield. Their assigned C47 planes stood behind them, and now Major Ingram stood looking out over the group of men. Keith, Doyle, and Starkey stood together on the far side of the group and Ingram stood before them, looking around at the eager young faces.

"Gentlemen, the mission we will be undertaking this evening will be one of key importance to this operation" the major began, and then paused a moment before continuing, "I know you have all heard the rumors. If this operation succeeds, we could be home by Christmas. Now, even if this is true, we must give it our all if the plan is to succeed, do you understand? We could all be in the arms of our wives, our children, by the end of this year, but it shall require one last effort from each and every one of you. Every man must play his part" he paused once more, "now, for those of you who may not make it home, history shall honor you as the final blow that struck down the Nazi beast, for the beast is bleeding, gentlemen! All it shall take is one more decisive blow over the head, and it shall fall dead! God bless and preserve all of you! God save the King!"

"God save the King!" the group of men shouted back.

Ingram gave them one last salute before they dispersed. Doyle headed toward his assigned airplane when Ingram called to him.

"James, over here"

The lieutenant looked back at his commanding officer and saw him approaching with a bottle in one hand.

"Yes Major?" the latter inquired.

"A little something with my compliments" Gerald held out the bottle.

Doyle was grateful for the offer, and he reached into his pack and pulled out the small tin cup they were all issued. He held it out and Ingram removed the bottle's stopper before pouring in a liberal amount.

"This old Cherry has been in my family for generations. 1867, a good year too" he explained with a grin.

Doyle took a sip and began to cough profusely. The liquid burned all the way down his throat as he swallowed it. The major smiled as Doyle's face grimaced and he continued to cough.

"Strong that stuff" the younger observed.

"No such thing as strong drink, just weak drinkers" a voice broke in with a laugh.

Doyle turned to see Starkey standing behind him. "I suppose you'd know, wouldn't you Bob?" he said with a grin, and then he turned back to Major Ingram. "Major sir, this is my old mate from the RAF, Lieutenant Robert Starkey" Doyle introduced his CO to his friend.

"My pleasure Lieutenant" Ingram shook Robert's hand with a smile before holding out the bottle, "do you have a cup? Any friend of Doyle's is a friend of mine".

"Why not?" Starkey replied, reaching into his back and taking out his own tin cup.

Ingram took out his own cup and poured more of the cherry into Doyle's before filling his own and Starkey's. "Here's to the hope we succeed" the major raised his cup in a toast and the two other SAS men did the same before all three men downed the shots.

Doyle did better this time; the burning wasn't as bad as it had been before so he was able to suppress another coughing fit. Ingram noticed and smiled at him.

"Having a party without invitin me?" came a familiar voice with a Scottish accent.

Keith had approached the group. Ingram did not say a word, but instead put the cork back in the bottle of Cherry and started walking toward his own assigned plane.

"What, I don't get one?" Keith called after the major.

"You do not _need _one" Ingram shot back.

Doyle understood why the major withheld the drink from the sergeant. Keith's drinking problem had caused Ingram to berate the Scotts man more than once. Indeed, it seemed to Doyle that his old friend had been sloshed almost every evening since they got back from France.

"Fine, I guess I don't" Keith called after Ingram before turning to Doyle and Starkey, "well, I'll see you on the ground lads" and with that, the three men headed to their respective planes.

Market Garden was about to begin.

* * *

_December 16, 1944. Camp Cullman, Luxembourg_

Private Ballard was awakened by someone shaking him. With a groan, he opened his eyes and saw Guzzo looking down on him (Ballard was sleeping on the bottom bunk of him and Kelly's bed.).

"Wake up Ballard, we got shit to do" the sergeant ordered him before heading outside the tent.

Chris got out of bed hazily and saw that Kelly wasn't in his top bunk, or the tent for that matter. Assuming that his bunk mate had gotten up earlier, Ballard put on his boots and helmet (the soldiers slept in their dungarees in order to protect themselves from the bitter cold that swept through the tent each night) before heading out. Nichols and Huxley were already waiting outside along with Kelly.

"What time is it?" Ballard inquired to Nichols upon exiting the tent.

"Only about 0500" Jack replied.

"Jesus Christ" the latter thought with a yawn, "what could they possibly want us to do? It's not even light out yet".

His question was answered by a quick glance around. Several jeeps had their headlights on and were shining them onto the road. It had snowed the previous night and, once more, several squads were shoveling away at the road. Guzzo approached his squad carrying some shovels.

"Colonel Cullman wants the road shoveled by 0600 when the supply trucks start moving through" he announced to the group of tired men.

And so they began that morning's hard labor, for it seemed to Ballard that it was all the camp was good for. They weren't on the front lines, they weren't a supply depot. Their only job was to keep the road to Wiltz as maneuverable as possible.

"I didn't join the Army just to shovel a road for the whole Goddamn war" Ballard voiced this frustration sometime later as the squad continued shoveling.

"Tell it to someone who gives a shit, Boot" Huxley shot back.

"You can go to Hell" the latter retorted angrily.

"We're already there, Boot"

They continued their work in silence for the next ten minutes. At which point, Ballard attempted to shovel a large load when his shovel broke in half. He swore loudly.

"Better go get yourself a new one" Guzzo told the private, and Chris headed toward the supply tent.

It all seemed to be going well at first. He requested a new shovel from the supply Sergeant and then started back toward the main road. Suddenly, a loud booming noise from far away caught his attention. Looking off toward the town of Wiltz, Ballard could make out what seemed to be explosions in the darkness of the early morning. He was still focused on these odd lights when a whistling noise suddenly pierced the air. Chris looked up to see what the origin of the noise was.

BOOM! A massive explosion engulfed the supply tent behind him.

Ballard was knocked backward into the snow by the force of the explosion, but he did not have time to try and wrap his mind around what had happened. More explosions were erupting all over camp. Ballard struggled to get to his feet. More whistling announced another round of explosions.

"We got incoming!" shouted a soldier as he ran past, "take cover".

Following this advice, Chris managed to pick himself up and began to run through the camp, though he realized that there was no real solid cover other than the flimsy tents. Explosions were popping up all around him. Suddenly, one of the artillery shells landed directly in front of the private. The ensuing explosion knocked him back onto the snowy ground where Chris grasped his head in pain as a shrill ringing filled his ears. He lay there for several minutes, so disorientated that he was unable to stand. The ringing was still present, muffling the explosions of the continuing artillery barrage. After a few minutes, Ballard managed to regain some composure and stumbled to his feet. It all seemed to be in slow motion; the explosions landing all around him and the soldiers running right and left. One of these soldiers was running toward him shouting something that Chris could not make out through the ringing.

A shell hit directly next to the man, causing him to explode into several pieces. Ballard flinched as the soldier's blood spattered onto him. The private reached up with a trembling hand and felt his face and touched the warm, sticky liquid. He pulled the hand away and looked down at it; it was covered in the blood.

"That's not my blood" Ballard thought vaguely, "that's not my blood".

Another hit occurred behind him, not close enough to knock him down, but enough to cause the recruit to stumble. This jolt managed to shake him out of the near catatonic that he had settled into. Picking up his helmet from the ground next to him, Ballard began to run as fast as he could. The artillery shells continued to land, but now there were less soldiers running about the camp ,the rest having taken cover or been killed. Hoping to find Guzzo or Nichols, Ballard made his way back toward the road, or at least he headed in the direction he thought the road was in. The concussion of the shell hitting near him had disorientated him slightly. Chris found that he was going in the right direction however, as the main road suddenly came into view. Just as he was about to reach his target, a shell hit in front of the recruit once more, throwing him backward (though, for a second time, he was left miraculously uninjured).

Not knowing what else to do, and with more explosions lighting up all around him, Ballard curled up into a defensive ball like a child being attacked by a rapid dog. Another nearby explosion sent snow flying, which buried the young private. He sat beneath the snow, listening to the now muffled rumbles of the explosions and breathing heavily.

Any one of those shells could hit him, any one.

* * *

_September 16, 1944. Several miles south of Arnhem, Holland._

The C47 Skytrain airplane that Doyle sat in hummed as it flew toward the SAS men's destination: the city of Arnhem. It had been a fairly quiet plane ride from Northern France, lasting only a little over an hour and the lieutenant had slept through most of it. Now however, Keith was shaking James awake as they neared the drop zone.

"Doyle, we'll be there in ten minutes, best wake up" the Scotsman told his close friend softly as he awoke.

James only nodded in response before turning to look out the window of the plane. It was night, but he could make out small patches of lights down below. Whether they were towns or German positions he did not know.

"Basic operation time: predawn insertion" Doyle thought to himself.

"We'll be coming up on the drop zone soon sir, you best get ready back there" the pilot shouted from the cockpit.

Major Wallcroft stood up from his seat (Major Ingram was in another plane) and took his position in front of the door of the plane. Several more minutes of calm riding went by…then ended. The aircraft gave a sudden jolt and the sky outside was illuminated by bursts of AA fire.

"We're taking flak, 'old on back there!" the pilot called to the paratroopers.

Doyle looked out the window once more. The sky was ablaze with anti-air fire. Small explosions erupted all around the plane and brief but bright flashes illuminated the cabin. The C47 continued to rattle and shake as they flew on through the hail of flak.

"We'll be over the drop zone in three minutes" the co-pilot announced.

Suddenly, the plane gave an almighty lurch, even greater than before. There was a loud screeching noise of metal being torn apart and small explosions erupted through the floor of the cabin. Several SAs men were struck by AA fire and died instantly. There was another great lurch and more tearing noises. A great roar filled the cabin as the cockpit literally detached from the plane and fell off into the sky, the pilots' screaming could be heard as it disappeared.

A great vacuum formed at the opening and Doyle stood up and clung to the bar that they would normally attach their static lines to in order to avoid being sucked out of the plane. Through the gigantic hole before him Doyle could see the flashes of light on the ground which were the AA guns firing at the planes. He could also see that plane was starting to go down.

"Go Doyle, through the hole there" Keith shouted from behind him.

Without hesitation, Doyle released the bar and, after stepping further toward the opening, flung himself out into the night air. His first main concern was that the propellers would tear him to pieces, but he must have missed them as he continued to fall without interruption. Not sure how far he was from the ground due to the darkness, and fearing what might happen if he waited too long, Doyle fumbled to find his static lien which flapped around behind him. Taking a firm grip on the small strap, he gave it a tug. It deployed and James felt the familiar jerk upward as it did so. He then immediately reached out and grasped the two ropes on either side of him connecting the chute to his pack, using them to steer himself. In the dark it was difficult to see where he was going. There was a large sprawling forest beneath him, and, looking off to his right, he could make out the dim lights of a town, presumably Arnhem.

Not knowing whether any of the other planes made it, or even if anybody else made it out of his own plane, Doyle continued to fall toward the earth. As the trees came closer, he let go of one side of his chute and held an arm over his face defensively as he collided into the trees. He bounced off several of them for a few seconds, and then all went still.

* * *

_December 16, 1944. Camp Cullman, Luxembourg. _

Guzzo helped turn over a soldier whose leg was missing. The artillery barrage that had hit the camp earlier had now ended after nearly an hour and a half of on and off shelling. Now, the camp was attempting to repair the damage. Many tents had been destroyed, and others had burnt down. To top it off, the lack of aerial cover had resulted in a great deal of wounded in the wake of the barrages.

"Somebody get him to a medic!" Guzzo shouted to two nearby privates, who nodded and lifted the wounded man before carrying him toward a tent that had been set up as a temporary medical center (fortunately several medics were stationed in the camp).

There was a pile of wounded men before him, and the sergeant saw that he would need more help. Looking around, he saw Kelly kneeling on his knees near the main road and rushed over to him.

"Kelly, c'mon I need your help" he shouted to the recruit.

Kelly was rocking back and forth on his knees. Tears ran down his face as he was crying frantically.

"Ogodogodogod! I don't wanna die!" the private was whimpering.

"Kelly, I need to get up and help!" Guzzo reached down and attempted to pull Stephen to his feet.

"I can't, I can't, I can't" the private howled miserably.

Guzzo, seeing how little his demands on him were helping the terrified recruit, stopped trying to pull him up, and instead sat down next to him. Kelly threw his arms around the sergeant and clung to him tightly, sobbing uncontrollably. Not sure what to do, Guzzo patted the young man on the back and attempted to sooth him. "It's alright" the sergeant whispered, "it's gonna be alright".

They sat like that for a moment, Kelly's sobbing seemed to lessen, and Guzzo eventually pulled away and stood up before offering the recruit a hand up. "C'mon brother, we still got a war to fight" he told Kelly, who, after a moment's hesitation, took his commanding officer's hand and allowed himself to be lifted up.

Guzzo turned and saw Ballard walking toward them. He was wide eyed and his walking seemed almost dream like. He stared straight ahead unblinkingly and seemed to have no purpose to his wandering. His face was spattered with blood and his eyes had a glazed over look to them.

"Ballard, what happened?" Guzzo asked the private as he approached.

The latter did not reply but only stared out at the horizon beyond Guzzo and Kelly.

"Ballard!" the higher ranking of the two shouted again, snapping his finger in front of the catatonic private's face.

Chris seemed to awaken from a dream and looked over at Guzzo as if he was surprised to see him standing there. "Sarge" he whispered, his voice far off and husky.

"Guzzo!" a voice shouted, and Salvador was glad to see Huxley and Nichols running toward them.

"Huxley, get over there and start moving the wounded to the medical tent" Guzzo ordered the southerner, who nodded before heading off.

"Nichols, see if you can get Ballard to wake the fuck up" the sergeant gestured toward the statue that was Chris before turning to Kelly.

"Stephen, you need to help Huxley alright" he said in a soothing voice. Kelly only nodded before leaving to join his fellow soldier.

After assigning jobs to his men, Guzzo ran to the officer's tent to report casualties. He entered the tent to find Major Holden and Colonel Cullman in a heated debate.

"I don't see any connection!" the colonel shouted.

"A massive build up on the front lines and now a 90 minute long artillery barrage covering an area of almost 60 miles! How can you not see the connection? The Germans are up to something colonel, I swear it!"

"You're talking about a full scale offensive! For God's sake Holden, they don't have it in them for an offensive!"

"This barrage seems to say different!"

The two suddenly stopped when they noticed Guzzo, who quickly saluted them before reporting.

"Sirs, we have multiple casualties from A and D company. B and C are a little less" the sergeant reported.

"Thank you sergeant, you may return to your duties" the colonel saluted back, and Guzzo hurried out of the tent.

There was still a lot of cleaning up to do.

* * *

_Hello folks. Sorry it took me so long to update. I rather enjoyed writing this chapter. Especially the barrage scene (I thought it would be more interesting to focus on the view point of one of the new recruits than the hardened veterans like Nichols or Guzzo). Anyway, please remember to review and let me know what you think! One final note, if you like my story and you think it is worth reading, spread the word. Tell people you know or who read your stories. Word of mouth is the best way to attract readers. Cheers. _


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Wacht am Rhein

_December 18, 1944. Camp Cullman, Luxembourg. _

The next two days were extremely busy. The work of fixing up the camp after the previous day's artillery barrage had been complicated by radio reports of enemy offensives all along the Meus River. While Colonel Cullman dismissed the enemy counterattacks as local responses to the attacks on the Siegfried Line, Major Holden was deeply disturbed by them as they seemed to confirm his theory that the Germans were launching a major offensive. Despite these concerns most of the radio reports said that the offensives were occurring north of Wiltz in the Ardennes area in Belgium. Still, it didn't keep Holden from being ever more cautious about a possible attack.

However, he couldn't help but feel anxious about the camp's situation. The artillery raid the previous day had killed and wounded many. The Major conservatively estimated that less than half of the camp's residents could fight if needed. On top of that, the tent in which the bulk of the camp's weapons and ammunition were stored had taken a direct hit and was no more. All in all, if the Germans did indeed attack, Camp Cullman would not survive.

These thoughts clouded Holden's mind as he entered the officer's tent early that morning to perform his duties. Colonel Cullman was taking with the radio man (it was a sheer miracle that the camp radio had survived the artillery attack) and ignored the Major for the most part. They had been on rather rocky terms since their fight yesterday. Now, Holden simply returned to his work of calculating and writing out the resupply requirements that would be radioed back to HQ later that day.

After about an hour and a half's work, the figures were finished and Major Holden asked the radio man to ring up the HQ at Bastogne. The operator nodded before fiddling with one of the dials in order to switch to the right frequency. However, as he was shifting frequency, the radio man suddenly stopped and swiftly went back a few twists on the knob, then listened into his headset with a look of increasing concern. Holden noticed this and inquired in a half-puzzled, half-anxious tone: "what is it?"

"You're gonna wanna hear this yourself, sir" the operator replied, before handing his headset off to the Major.

Holden took the set and put it on. He was immediately greeted by two sounds, the first being a droning rapping noise, which he assumed was gunfire; the second was a man's voice shouting over the din of background noise.

"This is Listening Post Arizona calling Wiltz!" the voice shouted, "we got enemy infantry crossing the Meus River, repeat, Germans are pouring across the Meus; hundreds of em, th…th…thousands of em! The entire fuckin German army is pushing toward Wiltz! OH GOD, THEY'VE GOT ARMOR SUPPORT!" and with that, there was a massive explosion, followed by nothing but white noise.

The radio operator, responding to the look of terror on the Major's face, asked nervously, "what's happening, sir?"

Holden said nothing at first, only listened to the white noise in silent shock. His worst fear had come true. After another moment of stillness, the officer managed to regain his composure and handed the headset back to the radio operator.

"Quick, get the commander at Wiltz on the horn and tell him that Gerry is headed toward them in full force!" he ordered the radio man.

"What the Hell is going on?" demanded the voice of Colonel Cullman.

Holden turned to face his superior. "Sir, the Germans have launched an offensive across the Meus river and are headed toward Wiltz! We have to warn them!" the Major explained quickly.

The look on Cullman's face remained skeptical. "And who told you that?" he demanded.

"A soldier at LP Arizona, sir"

"That is all?"

"What more do we need?"

"A little more solid proof before we start causing a panic all over the front line"

Major Holden was shocked by the Colonel's words. Cullman moved past Holden and ordered the radio operator: "Lapointe, get me LP Laramie on the horn and ask for a status report".

"LP Laramie is almost 15 miles away from LP Arizona, they couldn't possibly know!" Holden exclaimed.

Cullman ignored him and continued to give orders to Lapointe. The pent up frustration and anxiety had been building up inside Holden finally burst forth and, before he could stop himself, he practically screamed at the Colonel: "For God's sake Richard! Gerry's waving a knife in front of your face and you're still in denial about it!"

Cullman looked up at the Major with a mixture of surprise and outright fury. "John, you're forgetting yourself" he growled, "I'm not putting the entire line on alert based only on your paranoid theories! Now get out!"

John Holden gave one last look at the Colonel, then turned and speedily headed outside the officer's tent. Once outside, he looked around desperately and caught sight or a sergeant who was standing near the main road.

"Sergeant!" he shouted, approaching the dark-haired man.

"Sir" the sergeant saluted his CO.

"What's your name" the latter asked quickly.

"Guzzo, sir, Salvador Guzzo" was the reply.

"Guzzo, are you familiar with a few men who are still able to fight?"

The Sergeant nodded.

"Good, get a squad together and then go to the supply sergeant and get enough guns and ammo to arm yourselves, even it takes every last rifle and bullet we got left. Then, take one of the jeeps we got left and head to Wiltz. Tell the commander there that the Germans are heading toward the town and to be ready to intercept them. Stay there and help as best you can" the major ordered him.

Guzzo shifted nervously, "I don't think I can do that without the Colonel's permiss…" he began, but Holden cut him off.

"There's not time! I'll take full responsibility. Now get going!" he persisted.

Guzzo nodded before running off into the camp. Holden watched him until he was out of sight.

"God save us all" the Major whispered.

* * *

An hour later, Guzzo sat in the driver's seat of a jeep as he drove toward the snow covered town of Wiltz. Nichols sat in the passenger's seat next to him, and in the seats behind them sat Corporal Derval, Corporal Blanchard, and Private Warren. Warren was a new recruit, but both Corporals had fought with Nichols and Guzzo in Normandy. Salvador had ordered Huxley to say at Camp Cullman in order to keep an eye on things there (although, unofficially, it was also Guzzo's way of punishing the southerner for his maliciousness toward Kelly and Ballard).

The group was armed with the last of the camp's weapons: Guzzo with a Thompson, Nichols with a M1 Carbine, and the other three men with Garands. Their ammunition however, was extremely limited. Guzzo had only two 20 round clips for his Thompson, while Nichols had only the one 15 round clip for his Carbine, and the other three had only two Garand clips each. Despite their under-armament, the group headed toward Wiltz with all speed.

"What do we do when we get there?" Nichols asked his sergeant.

"We're supposed to let the Major there know that Gerry's on the way or something" Guzzo replied.

"They're already here!" shouted Derval suddenly.

The jeep had just entered the town and was preparing to turn down the main street when a Panzershreck rocket struck the road in front of them. Guzzo swerved in order to avoid the explosion and an MG42 suddenly opened fire from one of the windows of a building off to the left of the street.

"Get out now! Get into one of the houses" Guzzo shouted over the din of the MG and the group complied.

As the group of men ran across the road, Private Warren was suddenly struck by several MG shots and fell to the ground.

"He's dead, keep moving" Nichols shouted as the group continued to make a mad dash for the house.

Guzzo was the first to reach the door, and did not even stop to open it, but instead charged into it with his shoulder. The door detached from its hinges and the group ran inside. Once safely indoors, the four men stopped to catch their breath.

"How the Hell are the Germans already here?" Derval gasped between breathes.

"I don't know" was the only answer Guzzo could give.

Nichols was still trying to catch his breath when the sounds of men shouting in German reached his ears. Guzzo must have heard them too, for he said quickly, "they'll be looking for us! We gotta move!"

With that, the sergeant led the way to a door near the back of the room in which they now found themselves and opened it. The door opened out onto a back alleyway between the building they were now in, and a building right next to it.

"Alright, let's move. Stay in the alleyways, don't go out in the open" Salvador ordered his squad before heading out into the alleyway cautiously.

They all followed and began to make their way down the corridor. It wasn't long however when before the alleyway ended with a large opening out onto the main street. They reached this opening, and Guzzo stuck his head out, looking up and down the strangely disserted street.

"Where are they?" he muttered to no one in particular.

His answer came straight away. A shot rang out through the street and a bullet bounced off the wall of the building just above Guzzo's head.

"Sniper!" Nichols shouted, grabbing Guzzo and pulling him back into the alleyway.

Suddenly, a door in the side of the building off to their left opened, and an American soldier stuck his head out.

"Psst, over here, quick!" the soldier whispered to the group.

Guzzo led his men into the house where they found three more men (four including the soldier who had let them in) hiding.

"Are you are reinforcements?" asked the Private who had let the group in.

"We're from Camp Cullman. What the Hell happened here?" Guzzo inquired.

"Gerrys came out of nowhere, smashed right through our line, and cut a path right through the town. Those of us who were left took up refuge in the buildings" the latter explained to the sergeant.

"How many are left besides you men?"

"I don't know, sir"

Salvador stayed silent as he contemplated the situation. Finally, he asked: "do you know where others might be?"

"Sergeant Benson said he was gonna take his men and hole up in the tavern in the town center" the private recounted.

"Alright, let's try and get to that tavern then, and link up with whoever's left" Guzzo told the group of men before turning back to the Private, "you know this city better , you lead the way Private…"

"Laughlin, Frank Laughlin" the Private introduced himself before leading the group to another door that opened out into the system of alleyways that ran throughout Wiltz.

They moved through the first half without much incident, beyond encountering the occasional German patrol that was moving about on the main road. However, upon arriving at the town center, the situation became much more complicated. Multiple trucks filled with Wehrmacht soldiers were unloading their armed personal into the large square, and several Panther medium tanks were stationed in the courtyard as well.

"Jesus Christ, they got the whole army down here" Blanchard whispered.

"The tavern in on the far side of the square, sir" Private Laughlin informed Guzzo.

"It's always on the far side" the sergeant mumbled before turning to Nichols, "we'll be less easy to spot if we split up. You, Derval, and the other two go left around the courtyard; I'll take the rest around the right" he suggested.

Nichols nodded in agreement, and so, the groups went heir separate ways. The Corporal led his own group through a small alleyway as quietly as possible. However, they turned a corner and were immediately confronted by three German soldiers. The enemies shouted loudly in German before opening fire on the group of Americans. Unfortunately, the alleyway offered little in the way of cover, and one of the soldiers in the group was struck by several bullets and fell dead. The remaining soldiers returned fire, and managed to bring down the three Germans without sustaining further injury. But the damage was already done. Other German soldiers in the courtyard began running toward the sounds of the firefight, and Nichols led his group through a door to heir left into a small garage.

"They're gonna corner us! We can't stay here" Derval reminded Nichols.

Jack knew that Derval was right. Searching for a way out, he noticed the sliding door off to one side of the room and ran toward it.

"Help me open this thing!" he called to Derval, who complied and ran over to the door as well.

The two men began lifting on the door to open it. A loud explosion rocked the garage as the door was suddenly blown open. A Panther tank had taken up position right outside the door and blown it open. The large hole allowed the MG in the tank's hull to begin spraying bullets inside the garage. The two other privates were quickly struck down, while Derval and Nichols took cover in the respective corners on either side of the, now blown open, door way.

In an attempt to move away from the door, Derval edged along the wall to the far side of the building where he saw another doorway just off to Nichol's left. The Corporal gestured to the door, and Nichols nodded. Derval then made a dash across the garage toward the door, but the MG fire from the tank just outside cut him down easily. Seeing this, Nichols left behind his fallen comrades and headed through the doorway. It led into a hallway that seemed abandoned to Jack, who continued to run as fast as he could until he reached a door at the end of the hallway. It opened onto yet another alleyway. Without hesitation, Jack ran out into the alleyway, but rather than follow it, he headed through the door right across from the garage.

To his surprise, the building in which he found himself was the tavern he had been trying to reach.

"Guzzo? Blanchard? Anyone?" Nichols called out

A trap door opened next to him and a soldier wearing the stripes of a sergeant appeared from the hole.

"You! Get your ass down here now!" the man whispered.

Nichols followed the man down a set of steps into a wine cellar beneath the tavern. Several soldiers were down in the dank space, and Nichols closed the trap door behind him before turning to the sergeant who had rescued him.

"Sergeant Benson?"

The sergeant nodded, "and who are you?" he asked.

"Corporal Jack Nichols"

"Well Nichols, where are you from, cause you sure as Hell weren't here in Wiltz when all this shit started" Benson demanded.

"Camp Cullman, I came here with five others, although two of them are dead as far as I know" Jack replied.

Benson nodded at this answer, and then became rigid at the sound of footsteps on the floor above. Looking back at Nichols, the sergeant gestured toward the M1 Carbine that the Corporal had managed to hang onto through the whole ordeal. The two soldiers climbed the stairs silently as the footsteps above continued. When they reached the top, Nichols readied his Carbine while Benson drew a Colt M1911. The sergeant then help up three fingers and began putting them down one at a time.

"3…2…1" as soon as he put down the last finger both men burst up through the trap door, guns at the ready.

To their surprise, three American soldiers were searching the tavern. Nichols recognized Guzzo and Blanchard.

"Nichols!" Guzzo exclaimed, upon recognizing him.

"Welcome to the party sarge" the latter replied with a grin.

"I suggest you men get come on down with us" Benson suggested. The new arrivals followed the two men down into the wine cellar.

"Is this all that is left?" Guzzo asked, looking around at the soldiers hiding out in the cellar.

"More or less" Benson confirmed.

"You mind telling me what happened here?" Salvador inquired.

"Simple, the Gerrys ripped a hole right through town and, from the looks of their build up, they're fixin to keep marching west" the latter replied.

Nichols eyes got wide at this information. "My God, they'll be heading straight for Camp Cullman" he whispered before hurrying to the steps that led up to the trap door.

"Goin back outside in broad daylight isn't a good idea. We'll have to wait for dark" Benson warned Nichols.

"Till dark? It's only about 1300; by dark there'll be no camp to warn!"

"Maybe, but if you go out there you may as well put that rifle barrel in your mouth and pull the trigger. Save the Gerrys the trouble".

Guzzo was not arguing Benson's point, and Nichols realized that the sergeant was right.

They would have to wait until dark.

* * *

Please remeber to review. If you see something wrong, don't hesitate to point it out. Grammer Nazis (ha ha ha) don't bother me. Cheers.


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Lighting up the night

_September 16, 1944. Thirteen Kilometers west of Arnhem, Holland_

Doyle wasn't sure how long he was unconscious, but judging by the fact it was still night, it couldn't have been that long. When he finally woke up, the SAS man found himself hanging from a tree by his chute. With a bit of effort, he managed to unhook the straps that held him in place and fell to the ground with a thud. The experienced paratrooper was on his feet in a second and began climbing the tree that his pack now hung from in order to retrieve his Sten. When this was done, Doyle began to make his way through the thick forest as quietly as he could. The drop zones for the SAS men were fairly close together, but then again, Doyle had no idea where he was considering it was pitch black out when he was falling and his plane had been crashing when he had jumped.

After perhaps a half-hour of searching for, well just about anyone, Doyle heard voices off to his left. The airman knew better than to announce himself to a pair of unidentified voices, especially in the middle of enemy territory, so he approached the sounds of talking as quietly and unobtrusively as possible. It proved to be a good judgment call. Upon arriving on the edge of a small clearing, four German soldiers were idly chatting while standing near a Flak Anti-aircraft gun. Doyle sat crouched in the brush watching the four solders, contemplating his next move. On one hand, he was outnumbered (although he had faced worse odds before), but on the other hand, the groups' orders were to secure the landing zones for the 1st Parachute Brigade by tomorrow afternoon, which definitely included destroying any AA batteries that were in the area.

After weighing his options, Doyle decided to sabotage the AA gun. Moving quietly, the commando moved through the thick trees that surrounded the small clearing until he was directly behind the Flak gun. It was your average Flakvierling 38mm AA gun, surrounded by a small square of sandbags. Sitting on a small table next to the gun was a radio, which Doyle assumed was the gun crew's only link to their command HQ.

"They radio you in, and there goes the entire SAS's surprise element" a voice in James's head reminded him.

Four men, anyone of which could reach the radio and sound the alarm; this was not going to be easy. He was still trying to decide how to approach the situation when luck intervened. One of the soldiers suddenly broke off from the group and headed toward the section of woods Doyle was now crouched in. He did not notice the Englishman however, and headed a ways into the woods. The hidden paratroopers followed him. The German stopped a ways in the foliage, unzipped his pants, and began urinating.

"They never learn" Doyle thought with a smile.

He approached the enemy as quietly as he could, Sten in hand. When he was right behind the German, James stood up from his crouching positions and, with one swift motion, brought the Sten forward around the man's neck and then grabbed the barrel. They struggled briefly, but Doyle pulled back on his gun as hard as he could. The tubular body of his Sten drove into the German's neck, effectively cutting off his air. However, the Wehrmacht soldier, demonstrating a quick thinking that was rare for a German in Doyle's opinion, the young man stopped trying to pull on the Sten that was blocking his wind pipe and instead delivered a hard blow with his elbow to Doyle's stomach.

Grunting in pain, the Englishman loosened his grip on the Sten as he attempted to recover from the blow. This was all the German needed and he managed to let out a loud shout. Ignoring the feeling in his stomach like he was going to throw up, Doyle pulled back on the Sub-machine gun his hands, once again cutting off the air to the Heerman's lungs.

Realizing that the element of surprise was probably compromised, James gave the gun a vicious tug to the left. This was a risky move. If it worked, the German's neck would snap and he would be dead instantaneously. On the other end, if it did not snap, the man would be able to shout out for help again. Luck was on Doyle's side this time however, and a loud "pop" resonated from the German's neck. He went limp immediately.

As carefully as possible, Doyle set the body down on the soft earth below. He had just finished this when a voice shouted from a few feet behind him. In an instant the SAS man was hidden in a clump of bushes. After a few seconds, he began moving forward slowly. After making his way back a few feet, Doyle found another one of the three remaining Flak operators searching the forest, calling out in German to his comrade whom he had doubtlessly heard shouting earlier. The situation was different this time, however. This soldier was on the alert and he had a Kar98 rifle with him.

"Gunshot will attract a lot of attention" the voice in Doyle's head pointed out.

The German continued to walk through the thick foliage, calling out his comrade's name. James noted that this Wehrmacht soldier was not wearing his helmet. Deciding to take advantage of this, the commando snuck up behind the soldier when he turned his back to head left. As soon as he was behind the Heerman, Doyle raised his Sten over his head with both hands and then brought it down on to the German's head as hard as he could. Without uttering a noise, the victim crumpled to the ground.

"Two down, two to go" Doyle said to himself as he made his way back toward the Flak gun.

Upon arriving at the edge of the clearing, Doyle could make out the other two operators standing in front of the small table bearing the radio. They were both on alert, weapons in their hands. The first had a Kar98 rifle and was dressed in the usual camo uniform of a German soldier with a bubble helmet. The other however, while dressed in the same uniform, wore the distinctive cap that identified him as an officer. This was further backed by the fact that the officer was holding, not a Kar98, but a MP40.

"A bolt-rifle and a SMG, this definitely will not be easy" Doyle whispered to himself.

It was a dangerous situation indeed. Both of the soldiers were near the radio and could easily sound the alarm. Plus they were armed like they were. After some weighing in, Doyle decided that the best option (built on the assumption that there were no other Germans in the _immediate_ area) would be to get as close as possible before opening fire on the two Heermen.

And so that's what he did. Creeping carefully through the last bits of vegetation that stood between him and the clearing, Doyle moved slowly around so that he had a good view of the two Germans, made sure that his Sten was off safety, and then stood up before taking aim. He aimed at the officer first, and then fired.

"BRAP BRAP BRAP!" he fired off several shots, at least three of which struck the officer in the upper torso area.

However, as the officer crumpled to the ground, the other soldier reacted quickly and jumped behind the Flak gun for cover.

"One tries to fight back while being strangled, another reacts to gunfire as if he's been in the thick of battle before. These lads sure are experienced for a bunch of 'demoralized, third-rate' outfits" Doyle mentally noted as the German took a shot at him with his Kar98, forcing the Englishman to duck back down into the foliage.

After a few seconds, Doyle stood back up, and was shocked to see the young German going for the radio. Raising his Sten, the commando opened fire, but none of his shots managed to hit the Private. The Heerman reached the radio and began to fiddle with the knobs. Before he could speak however, there was a whistling noise, and a sickening "thunk". The German looked down at his chest in shock and saw a knife sticking out of it. With a short groan, he fell over dead.

Doyle looked down at his own, still sheathed knife, in shock. He had not thrown it. The sound of a twig snapping drew his attention, and he spun swiftly, gun in ready position.

"Whoa, take it easy, lad" Starkey stood before Doyle, his hands raised.

"Robert!" James exclaimed in surprise, "where the bloody Hell have you been!"

"Lookin for you" Starkey replied simply, "Keith told us about the plane goin down".

"Keith made it out alright?"

"Aye, he did".

"Where is he now?"

"Major Ingram is assembling the surviving SAS squads only a few yards from 'ere" Robert explained.

"Right, well, guess we better get a move on then" and with that Doyle headed off in the direction Starkey had gestured.

"Shouldn't we take care of this first" Robert called after him, gesturing toward the Flak gun.

"Oh, right" Doyle turned back and approached the Flak gun. Starkey reached into his pack and pulled out a charge.

James covered his friend as he armed the charge, and when this was done they ran in the direction of the SAS rally point. "BOOOOOOM!" a loud explosion rocked the still morning air, and the bright light of the exploding Flak gun lit the night briefly.

"Now that's what I call an entrance" Starkey said with a grin as he and Doyle walked through the forest toward their destination.

It was only a few minutes of half-walking, half-jogging that the two SAS men arrived at another, larger clearing. In this clearing however, a large group of SAS men were gathered around several supply drops and were gathering ammunition and weapons.

"Right lads, gather up weapons and ammo, and then get to securing the landing zones. Move, move, move!" Major Ingram was directing the groups.

"Major, look who I found" Starkey called to Ingram as they approached.

"Doyle, good to see made it, son" Gerald looked relieved to see the Lieutenants.

"Then I'm assuming that light show we saw earlier was your handiwork, eh?" said Keith's voice, and Doyle turned to see the Scotsman approaching the group.

"You made it out" James observed, a touch of relief in his voice.

"It takes more than a crashing plane to kill off a Scot, my friend" Keith replied with a grin.

They all laughed, even Major Ingram. Afterwards, the Major reminded them: "alright lads, reunions over, we've got a perimeter to set up".

They dispersed and headed off in their respective directions as Ingram looked on.

"So far so good" the Major thought to himself, but somewhere in his gut something was bugging him; a vague sense of doom that he couldn't explain; a sense that had been with him since they had landed.

"Murphy's Military Law: anything that can go wrong will" the phrase passed through the Major's mind, making feel even more uneasy. He shook it off however.

"Focus Gerald, you still have a job to do" he reminded himself before heading off to direct the men in setting up the drop zones.

* * *

_Hello folks. Sorry for the long delay. School has been just crazy lately, so I didn't have a whole lot of time over the weekend to work on this chapter (and even then it is still a lot smaller than I would like). Still, hope you enjoy, and please review. Feedback is appreciated, negative or positive. Cheers. _


	7. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Fall back!

_December 18, 1944. Camp Cullman, Luxembourg. _

John Holden sat next to a young private and looked out onto the road that led to Wiltz with a pair of binoculars, then back down at his watch. It was nearly noon. The major and the private were sitting in a small nest of sandbags which housed a Browning M1919 machine gun (Holden had requisitioned it from one of the supply trucks passing through along with some ammo; all without Cullman's permission) and now he, this recruit, and the machine gun were what made up the defensive line here at Camp Cullman. The major was still scanning the road when he caught sight of something large and dark.

"What the…" Holden mumbled as he squinted into the binoculars.

The large dark thing was a Panther tank. A column of them was heading down the road from Wiltz and trucks of soldiers were following the armor. After looking at the attack group one last time, Holden turned to the recruit sitting next to him.

"Evans, you have to hold the line, do you understand me? Hold it until I can get more men up here" he ordered the private.

"What…what going on sir?" Private Evans asked nervously.

"Son, the enemy is on his way here, you have to hold here" the major repeated and patted the private on the shoulder before running back into camp. He had only about 30 minutes until the enemy arrived.

With every burst of strength he had, Holden bolted for the officer's tent. He had to talk to Cullman. The colonel was speaking with the radio man when Holden entered and took no notice of the lower officer at first.

"What the Hell do you mean you can't get anybody on the horn?" Cullman shouted angrily.

"There's no one receiving, sir. At least no one I can get a hold of" LaPointe replied.

"What about LP Laramie?"

"Nothing, sir"

"Wiltz?"

"Nope"

Cullman was looking truly concerned at this point when he turned and noticed Holden. "I thought I told you to get the fuck out!" the colonel shouted angrily.

"Sir, the enemy is on the way from Wiltz, they'll be here any minute!" Holden reported quickly.

At first Cullman said nothing, a look of shock was plastered over his face at the news. After a few second, the colonel seemed to snap out of it, and turned to LaPointe.

"Private, I need you to get out there and rally any men that are in fighting shape. Tell em that I'm ordering them to get armed and form a defensive line in front of the camp, no go!" Cullman ordered the radio operator.

LaPointe looked skeptical at the order, but did as he was told. Cullman went back to working the dials on the radio. Holden didn't speak. He was too shocked to. He just stared at his commanding officer in a mixture of shock and outrage.

"Sir, they have armored support, there is no way we can mount a defense" the major said in a voice strained by anger.

"Really? And what would be your suggestion, Holden?" the latter retorted.

"We have to retreat, sir".

"Bullshit, we are gonna stand our ground here" the idea of retreat brought a grimace to Cullman's face like he had just drank a spoonful of castor oil.

"Sir, there's no way we could hold here. They have armor support and we have no AT guns of any kind" Holden attempted to reason with his CO, but to no avail.

"I don't care! If we go down, then we go down fighting! I'm not going to be known as the colonel who let this offensive just happen!" Cullman shouted back, his face turning purple with rage.

"YOU ALREADY HAVE, SIR!" Major Holden screamed back, causing Cullman to go silent. "You already let _this_ to happen Richard, but if you retreat now, we can link up with whoever is left at Bastogne and stop the Germans" the major continued in a quieter voice.

The red and purple in Cullman's face deepened. "You get your ass outside and rally the men. That's an order!" the furious colonel growled to Major Holden before turning back to the radio and fiddling with the knobs.

Holden couldn't believe his ears. "He's gone insane, there's no other explanation" he thought to himself as he continued to stare at his CO.

"Sir, we can't…." John began another argument, but Cullman cut him off.

"I SAID GET OUT!" the colonel shouted at the top of his lungs.

That was it then, the crossroads. Holden knew that if the camp did not retreat, they would be crushed, and yet the major could not order a full scale retreat without the colonel's okay; there would be too many questions.

"You know what you have to do. He's lost his mind and you know it. You don't have a choice" Holden thought to himself.

Mustering every bit of resolution for what he was about to do, Holden reached for the Colt M1911 pistol which he kept on him at all times, and drew it out. Cullman continued to attempt communication with Bastogne on the radio, unaware of what was happening behind him. With a slightly shaking hand, Holden raised the pistol into firing position.

"CRACK!"

The sound of the gunshot dissipated fairly quickly against the soft sides of the tent (a lucky thing probably) and blood spattered all over the radio as Cullman slumped forward. The colonel lay on the table, making little more movement than rigor mortis twitching. At first Holden could only stare at the body of his commanding officer. The full realization of what he had just done hit him fully. He had just killed his CO, a colonel, a countryman.

"It had to be done, and now this camp needs a decisive leader. You can't afford to hesitate anymore" a voice in Holden's mind reminded him.

Placing his gun back in its holster (albeit with some difficulty as his hands were still shaking) John headed outside and quickly moved to the supply area. A small group of soldiers had already assembled there and Holden quickly moved to the front of them.

"Men, we're pulling back to Bastogne. Don't bother with any personal affects, there isn't time. Just grab and weapons and ammo you can and get on the supply trucks. We roll in ten" Holden announced to the crowd.

Though they seemed surprised by the order, the group swiftly broke up to carry it out, and Holden watched them as they gathered up food, ammo, and weapons.

"If we have ten minutes" the major thought anxiously.

* * *

_December 18, 1944. Wiltz, Luxembourg, Ten hours later_

A soft creaking awakened Nichols from a troubled sleep. The squeaks and creaks were caused by someone walking in the tavern above the small cellar that Nichols, Guzzo, Sergeant Benson, Private Laughlin, and three other privates whose names Nichols did not know. Hearing the footsteps stop right next to the trapdoor that led down to their hiding space, Jack raised his M1 Carbine into firing position and aimed it at the stairs. He heard the sound of the trap door opening and prepared to fire.

"Who's there" Nichols demanded.

"It's Guzzo, put the fuckin gun down" Salvatore said quickly as he made his way down the stairs.

"Well, what's the situation up there?" Benson asked anxiously.

"There's still some Gerry infantry trying to set up a supply depot here in Wiltz from the looks of it. But the main force has moved on west" Guzzo reported.

"And it's plenty dark out?" the latter continued his inquiry.

"Oh yeah, the clouds are blockin out the moon. I figure it's gonna snow soon" Guzzo replied.

"Alright, let's move out" Benson nodded to the four privates who were under his command, including Laughlin.

The group of men grabbed their weapons and followed their sergeant to the stairs leading up to the trapdoor. Nichols stood up and moved to stand beside Guzzo, who looked at the corporal.

"So what'll _we _do?" Jack whispered to his sergeant.

"Follow them, I guess. Once we're out of Wiltz we'll head to Camp Cullman" Guzzo suggested.

"If there is a Camp Cullman anymore" Nichols muttered under his breath.

Guzzo shot him a look. "We'll go back and check at least. If there's nothing left, then we'll figure it out already" the sergeant snapped back. He seemed almost unwilling to believe the inevitable in Nichols's opinion.

"If you're comin with us, you better move you're asses" Benson called to the two men as he climbed the stairs, with his four men following him.

Nichols and Guzzo followed the other soldiers up the stairwell. Benson was the first to exit the trapdoor, his M1911 pistol drawn. This made Nichols look around him and truly asses the groups' armament. Guzzo had a Thompson, and had confided in Nichols that he had only half a clip left for it. Jack himself had only his M1 Carbine, for which he had maybe two-thirds of his fifteen round clip left. As for the others; Benson seemed to be armed only with the Colt M1911 handgun he had drawn now, Laughlin had a M1 Garand, and as for the other three privates: one had another M1 Garand, and another M3 'Grease Gun', and the third did not appear to have any sort of weapon at all.

Drawing his attention back to the situation at hand, Nichols moved up carefully with the others as they all headed up into the tavern above one by one. Benson had cleared it before moving up himself, so it wasn't surprising that it was empty. After the seven of them were out of the cellar, Benson led the way for the most part (after all, he knew the city better than Guzzo) and the group made their way swiftly to the back door of the tavern. Before long they were back outside in the system of alleyways that perforated the town. It was indeed a moonless night due to the clouds, and there was even a light snow fall coming down from those clouds.

They moved quickly, but cautiously as the group made their way down several alleyways. Suddenly, they reached an alleyway that appeared to end with a dead-end, but Benson led his men off into an alleyway that branched just off of the way they were just in. This alleyway ended not in a dead end, but an opening that led out into a small courtyard. This was where difficulties emerged. The courtyard itself had several Germans soldiers in it. Nichols counted about twelve, too many to fight with his own groups' limited ammo and numbers.

Benson saw this two and kept a watch on the Wermacht troopers. Of the twelve, five were gathered around a drum filled with wood that burning with a bright flame in an attempt to keep warm. The others were busy doing other menial tasks, like moving drums and fixing two trucks that were parked in the courtyard. After another look, the sergeant suddenly broke out in a run and booked it across the courtyard to another alleyway just across from the group.

After checking to make sure he had not been noticed, Benson gestured for the next soldier in the group, Guzzo. After looking to make sure none of the Germans was looking, Salvatore ran across the courtyard as well. Laughlin went next, then the other three privates. Finally, it was Nichols's turn. The corporal looked both out into the courtyard to make sure the Heermen were still occupied, and then started across the gap. However, halfway across his feet failed him, and Nichols lost his balance, falling face first into the snowy ground. One of the Germans suddenly looked up from the truck he was fixing and began scanning the gap.

"Don't…fuckin…move" Guzzo mouthed to his friend, who did as he was told and lay motionless on the ground.

The Gerry continued to look around for a few more minutes, then seemed to shrug and went back to fixing the truck. Seeing this, Nichols began to crawl toward the alleyway as slowly as he could. Guzzo guided him as best he could; signaling for Nichols to stop if one of the Germans seemed to be looking up. Eventually, Jack reached the alleyway and stood up with Guzzo's help.

"Alright, let's move, and no more mess-ups!" Benson growled, shooting a look at Nichols.

The corporal looked like he might have said something, but thought better of it. The group of men continued down the alleyway toward the city outskirts.

Toward what they hoped was safety.

* * *

_Camp Cullman, ten hours earlier. _

Huxley rushed into the tent that he shared with the rest of his squad. He reached his pack and took his M1890 Trench Shotgun along with some shells. It had been only a minute after Major Holden had ordered the retreat, and there was no way Huxley was leaving this shotgun behind. It had gone all through France with him. Suddenly, Kelly entered the tent with a terrified expression.

"W…what do we do?" Kelly sputtered.

"You can get the hell out of my way" Huxley shouted as he rushed past the terrified private.

Now knowing what else to do, Kelly followed the southerner outside. Huxley headed for the area where the supply trucks were parked. Men were unloading the trucks in an effort to make room for the evacuation soldiers, most of who were wounded. Huxley and Kelly had just reached the motor pool when there was a loud rumbling noise. An explosion engulfed a section of ground not far down the main road, and was quickly followed by others. The men who had gathered at the motor pool huddled closer together; stunned by this sudden attack. Suddenly, a tank rolled down the road into the camp, followed by another, and another. It was an entire armored column.

"Get down!" Huxley shouted, grabbing Kelly and pulling him to the ground just in time to dodge the barrage of bullets that the tank's machine gun unleashed.

Most of the men who had gathered at the motor pool weren't so lucky. The MG fire ripped through them, and men fell like flies.

"Move your ass, Boot!" Huxley screamed to Kelly, and the two soldiers began crawling around one of the supply trucks.

The three tanks that were now in camp began to spread out, driving around and firing their MGs at tents. Seeing that the armor was preoccupied, Huxley stood up and, grabbing Kelly and dragging him to his feet as well, the private ran toward one of the jeeps that were parked on the far end of the motor pool, using the parked trucks as cover.

A soldier was already in the jeep trying to start it, and Huxley recognized the man as Major Holden.

"Major" Huxley called as he approached the jeep.

"You, do you have the key to this vehicle" the major asked, upon seeing Huxley and Kelly.

"No sir, but I can hot wire it" Huxley suggested.

Holden nodded, and moved aside to allow Huxley into the driver's seat. The latter took the shotgun off his back and handed it to Kelly.

"Get in the back and blow away anyone Gerry that tries to get near us" he told the terrified New Englander.

Kelly looked nervous, but he nodded and took the gun. Huxley then reached up under the jeep's dash and ripped out several wire. He began to rub two of these wire together and the engine, as if by magic, roared to life.

Without a moment's hesitation, Huxley slammed on the gas and sped off down the main road to the west.

"Where to sir?" asked Huxley.

"Bastogne, it's the only place we know for sure is safe" Holden ordered.

"Rodger that" replied the latter.

The jeep had just reached the end of camp when they heard a shout.

"WAIT!" someone shouted.

"It's Ballard!" Kelly called from the back of the jeep.

Sure enough, Chris was running as fast as his legs would carry him after the jeep, which was quickly moving on without him.

"I ain't risking my neck for that Boot" Huxley shouted back.

"Stop this jeep, Private. That's an order!" Holden shouted.

Unhappy, but obedient; Huxley slammed on the brakes. Ballard ran faster until he reached the jeep and Kelly helped him inside.

"Alright, we're good" Kelly shouted, and the jeep sped off once more.

They made their way out of camp and continued to drive for about thirty minutes, the sounds of explosions and gunshots following them for several miles until they reached the bridge across a river.

"Bastogne is only about eight miles from here. If we drive fast, we can make it there in a little under an hour" Holden said quickly.

"What about the rest of the camp?" Ballard gasped, still trying to catch his breath.

"I think we are the camp, son" Holden replied darkly.

Ballard gulped at his words, and Huxley smiled.

"This is it, Boot. Welcome to the war" the southerner said with a dry laugh.

* * *

_Hello folks. I must confess i considered scrapping this story, but I decided to try it out a little longer. My reason for the considered scrapping was a lack of reviews, so I just want to say that if you're reading, review. It tells me someone is reading. Thanks in advance. Cheers._


	8. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Early successes and failures

_September 17, 1944. Near Arnhem, Holland. _

Private Charlie Lovell sat on the bench inside a C47 as he glanced out the small window at the countryside below him. The Rhine River could be seen down below, a long bluish strip like a ribbon across a green box. The light at the front of the plane suddenly turned on with a glowing red and the sergeant shouted: "everybody up, let's go!"

Lovell stood up with his fellow airborne troops as the sergeant opened the door. The sound of the wind blowing by filled the cabin. They flew on a few more minutes until the light suddenly changed to green.

"Go, go, go!" the sergeant shouted and the young men began leaping from the plane. As he moved up the line, Lovell attached his static line to the bar next to him. When at last he turn came he couldn't help but hesitate. He had jumped lots at the airbase back in France, but this time it was different: he was leaping into enemy territory. There were men down there that would not think twice about killing him.

The sergeant seemed to sense his hesitation, and gave Lovell a rough push out the door. He yelled briefly as the wind picked him up and flung him upward before he began to gently drift down toward the ground. Charlie let out a nervous chuckle. He was on his way.

The ground came up to meet him rather quickly. The LZs was several large clearing in among a bunch of trees. Lovell could see the town of Arnhem only about a mile or so away. He kept looking at the city until it disappeared behind the trees and he hit the ground with a thud. Other men were landing around him as well, and several who had already landed were going around setting up a perimeter and securing supplies and vehicles that had been dropped prior to their landing.

Lovell struggled to remove his chute upon hitting the ground. Once it was off he immediately proceeded to the staging area. Paratroopers were lining up in their respective battalions. Lovell's was the 2nd Battalion under Lieutenant-Colonel John Frost. Frost was easy to spot; he was tall, refining looking man with a mustache and a red beret on. Other paratroopers were lining up in front of the man, and Lovell quickly took his place among the line-up.

More men were dropping in form planes overhead as Charlie stood next to his friend, Private George White.

"Christ, they've sent the entire army here" White pointed out as he looked up at the falling troopers.

"No, the entire army would've needed more planes" Lovell pointed out as he looked up at the sky train above.

"Aye, well, I suppose they could always send the second half later".

"Maybe".

"Stand at attention!" Frost's voice interrupted their conversation, "attention battalion, we are to secure the ammo drops and then move out on the Arnhem bridge in one hour, be present for roll call in that time. Until then, report to your squad commanders. Dismissed!"

The assembly fractured into their respective squads. White and Lovell's CO was Sergeant Richard Price, a tough looking man with a clean shave face and wearing the familiar domed helmet of a British soldier.

Most of the other men at the LZ there forming into their squads as well, and while Lovell caught sight of a few familiar faces, he did not know most of these men. He did not have time to get to know them either, for Sergeant Price was already yelling at his men.

"Alright, I want this sodding LZ secured. Dawson, I want you to take White and Lovell and help with the perimeter, the rest of you get to retrieving our share of the ammunition, move!" He yelled, and the men immediately broke off to carry out his orders.

"Here we go, Charlie. You ready to make history?" White asked in an excited voice.

"Right there with you, mate" Lovell replied with a grin.

* * *

The SAS had been waiting at the designated LZ for some time now. When the primary units of the 1st Airborne finally began to drop, Doyle could finally breathe again. Their mission, for the most part, had been a success. Now, Doyle watched as the newly arrived paratroopers formed into their groups and established a perimeter. Major Ingram had given strict orders that the SAS men keep separate from the rest of the 1st Airborne.

"Wouldn't want them to think we're part of the common rabble, now would we?" Ingram had said, playing on the SAS's pride.

This was the reason why the SAS men were simply watching from a corner of the clearing as the 1st Brigade of the 1st Airborne arrived. The 2nd and 3rd Battalions were also landing at their respective LZs. When most of the men had landed, leader of the 1st Airborne, General Urquhart, arrived in a glider and began speaking with battalion leaders who had come to the first LZ to discuss the plan.

Ingram was also a part of the planning session as he was CO of the SAS forces. Doyle and Keith both stood near the planning session listening in. General Urquhart had a map out on a tree stump and the other Majors and Lieutenant-Colonels were gathered around, listening intently.

"Right, we'll need half of the force to stay here at the LZs to hold them for the second Lift tomorrow. Of the other half, 1st and 3rd Battalions will make their way to Arnhem and secure the city. We will send forward recon to create an OP at the bridge. 2nd battalion will move toward the bridge by the river. Once they have secured the city, 3rd Battalion will move to the bridge to assist 2nd Battalion, and then all we need do is hold until the XXX Corps arrives. Any question?" it was a lengthy plan, and most of the other officers nodded.

Major Ingram spoke up. "Sir, if I may, this plan indicates we will be attempting to seize the bridge, our main objective, with not even half our full strength" he pointed out.

"Yes Major, but intelligence reports that any defense of the bridge is almost nonexistent, so it should not be a problem. Also Major, I would like your SAS men to fold in with the 1st Battalion and help secure the city" Urquhart replied.

Ingram could only nod in conformation to his Commanding Officer. After this, Urquhart gave one final salute before dismissing the congregation. The major then returned to the group of SAS men with Doyle and Keith following him.

"Alright men, the 1st and 3rd Battalions will be entering Arnhem and we are to support them. Once that is done, we will follow the 3rd Battalion to the bridge to help secure it for the XXX Corps" this last bit was not in Urquhart's orders, but Ingram felt that the 2nd Battalion would need every bit of help they could get when holding the key bridge.

The men, loyal to the end to the distinguished major, only nodded solemnly. Ingram then stood and headed off to discuss some things with the officer in charge of 1st Battalion.

There was much to discuss about the next few days.

* * *

_December 19, 1944. Near Camp Cullman, Luxembourg. _

It was bitter cold even during the day, but at night it was unbearable. Still, Nichols walked through the snowy countryside, stubbornly holding out against frost as he followed Guzzo who was trudging ahead of him. Private Laughlin was behind him and Sergeant Benson followed behind him, and the other two privates who Nichols did not know brought up the rear. The group was in the section of woods that was just off the side of the road, although Nichols could still see the lights of Wiltz in the distance.

With an increase of his walking speed, Jack moved up so he was walking beside Guzzo and whispered to him: "we both know there's no way the camp survived an attack, so why are we doing this?"

"We don't know it for sure, the least we can do is check" the latter hissed back.

"You saw that assembly in the courtyard, and that probably wasn't even their full strength! There is now way the camp could hold off an attack that big!" Nichols persisted.

"You wanna just leave Huxley for dead then?" Guzzo's voice rose slightly as he wheeled to face his comrade angrily.

The Corporal could give no reply, so Guzzo turned and continued his march through the snow toward the path of light that was Camp Cullman. Nichols stood motionless, watching his sergeant. Laughlin and Benson both passed him, and Benson and Nichols exchanged a look. Then, Nichols continued to walk forward.

As they neared the edge of the camp, they started being more cautious. There was a fallen tree near the road, and Nichols, Guzzo, and Sergeant Benson all took position behind the cover in order to survey the camp. It was a Jack had feared, the Germans were clearly in control of the camp, and two Panzer IV tanks were positioned just down the road from the main camp which the German Army had immediately taken over as a base camp. The three Americans continued to look around for a few minutes longer, and then ducked back behind the log.

"You satisfied now?" Nichols said to Guzzo in a low voice.

"Do you think they took Huxley prisoner? We should look around a little" the sergeant whispered back.

"Look, I don't know who the hell this Huxley guy is, but it would be an unnecessary risk to our lives and the lives of those with us to hang around here" Benson broke into the two friends' conversation.

"If you wanna leave then go, no one is stopping you" Guzzo growled in exasperation.

"Sarge, I think he's right, we should leave" Nichols conceded.

"What about Huxley!"

"What about us?"

It was standoff. Guzzo stared at Nichols, then at Benson, and then back at Nichols. Finally, after several minutes of silence and tension, Guzzo dropped his head and, still staring at he ground, nodded in defeat.

"Alright" he sighed, "where are we going?"

"Division HQ was located at Bastogne last I heard. I reckon we should try to get there and link up with whoever's left" Benson suggested.

"If there _is _a HQ" Nichols muttered.

"Do you have a better plan, son? I'd be glad to hear it" the elder sergeant shot back.

Jack looked as if he was going to say something, but he seemed to think better of it and kept his mouth shut. The three men then made their way back into the forest to meet up with Laughlin and the others. The group talked a little and, based on the men's best knowledge of the land, decided that attempting to cross the Meuse River using the main bridge just west of Camp Cullman would be suicide, as the Germans would likely have it well defended.

"So what way should be take then?" Laughlin asked near the conversations end.

"I remember a boat house not far down the river from the bridge; I saw it when we were driving to the camp. We could see if there is something still sailable and try to cross the river that way" Guzzo suggested.

"Six men in a boat crossing a freezing cold river? Sounds dicey" Benson pointed out skeptically.

Guzzo simply shrugged, "what better option we got?" he replied.

There were no others, and Benson knew it. So, the six men set out down the road, though they were very careful to stay in the trees. Several times they were forced to duck down onto their bellies as truck filled with German troops drove down the road toward the direction of the bridge.

"All of these Gerrys, this isn't just some local offensive, this is major" Guzzo observed after a truck had gone by.

The bridge itself was not very far from Camp Cullman and only about a half hour later, the large steel structure came into view through the dense darkness of night.

"The boat house was on the left side of the bridge. We'll have to cross the road" Guzzo explained, gesturing to the strip of open ground off to their left.

"Right, we'll do it in two man teams, you two go first" Benson pointed to the two privates that Nichols did not know, and they both looked both ways before dashing as fast as they could into the woods across the snowy road.

Guzzo and Benson were next. They made it across the road with no problem, and then turned to look back at Laughlin and Nichols. The two men glanced down the road both ways. Nichols ran across the road no problem, but Laughlin hesitated.

"C'mon" Benson called to him impatiently.

At last, Laughlin began to run across the road. It was bad timing in the worst form. A truck suddenly turned the corner down the road and its headlights fell squarely on Laughlin as he ran across the snowy road and into the woods. The vehicle's tires squealed as the driver slammed on the brakes. The truck finally came to a stop on a diagonal angle almost right in front of the group of American soldiers. Several German soldiers leapt out of the back of the truck and began to fire on the men.

"Take cover!" Guzzo shouted before leaping behind a tree.

Most of them did the same accept for one of the unknown privates who took an MP40 shot to the chest as he tried to turn to run. The man fell dead instantly, leaving the five of them to defend the position. Most of the Germans, unfortunately, were armed with MP40s rather than Kar98s so this made the battle all the more dangerous. Nichols crouched behind a tree listening to the gunshots and the sound of bullets hitting the trees. After moment's hesitation, he poked out from behind his cover and fired several shots from his M1 Garand at the truck where most the Germans were taking cover.

"KEEP 'EM SUPPRESSED!" Benson shouted at the top of his voice over the gunfight.

Despite their disadvantage of firepower, the Americans were managing to do just that. The Heer troopers were unable to gain any ground; it was an effective stalemate. Still, Nichols knew they could not keep it up forever. Sooner or later ammo would run out or more Germans would arrive.

"GUZZO, WE CAN"T STAY HERE!" he shouted to his sergeant.

"I KNOW, PROVIDE COVERING FIRE AND WE"LL START MOVING TO THE BOAT HOUSE!" Salvador called back.

This plan seemed feasible. After all, the river wasn't very far at all. The group began to increase fire volume on their attackers, and was just about to start moving, when a low rumbling noise caught their attention. It was an unwelcome sound, and each man knew what it was.

"TANK!" Guzzo screamed.

A Panzer IV was moving up the road from the direction of the camp. The Americans' positions were near the road and easily exposable to fire. Now, as the German infantry continued to fire on them heavily, Nichols, who dared not risk moving under such heavy fire, could only watch helplessly as the tank's turret rotated in their direction.

"KAVOOM!" the explosion engulfed what seemed like half of the forest and Nichols was thrown back in a red and brown cloud that was mixture of shredded wood and blood. At first all he could do was lie on the snowy ground in shock, his ears ringing. The corporal could barely hear shouting, both in English and German. Suddenly, Bensons face appeared over him, shouting words, but Nichols could not make them out. He only stared up at the sergeant with a dazed expression.

Benson disappeared from view and Nichols could suddenly feel himself being dragged deeper into the woods. The sensation stopped after few seconds and a hand holding a Colt .45 appeared in his view. It fired the handgun several times, and Jack's hearing was just starting to return when there was sickening thud. He felt something warm spatter onto his face, and Sergeant Benson fell forward on top of Nichols, clearly dead.

The body cast him in total darkness and once again sounds were muffled. By now, Nichols's sense had returned and he considered lifting the body off of himself, but his hands refused to obey his mind's commands. Suddenly, there was a loud shout in German, and then Nichols felt the weight of Benson's body being lifted. He glanced up and saw Guzzo's face looking down on him.

"Nichols, get up, c'mon we gotta move!" he shouted, attempting to lift the corporal to his feet.

With some effort, Jack managed to stand, and he quickly took note of their losses. Sergeant Benson was obviously behind help, and the other unknown private was also nowhere to be seen.

"C'mon let's go!" Guzzo gestured to Laughlin, who was standing behind a tree.

The group turned and ran as fast as they could, going deeper into the forest. The machine gun in the hull of the tank was firing on them from the road, and Nichols could hear the droning sound of the machine gun and the sounds of the hundreds of bullets slamming into the trees growing fainter as they retreated.

"They're going to look for us, they're going to look for us and we still have to get across the river" Nichols realized with a sudden wave of fear.

There were many times when Jack Nichols was not sure if he would ever return home from the war. But that snowy night, running for his life in a dark and foreboding forest in Belgium (or were they still in Luxembourg? He wasn't quite sure) he had never been more certain he would not.

They truly were between the rock and the hard place.

* * *

_Hello folks, once again I considered scrapping this story, but for some reason I decided to continue it. If you are reading **please review**! It would help ensure that updates continue. Thank you in advance. Cheers._


	9. Chapter 8

"…_the task ahead a burden, men will suffer, that's for certain. We'll charge into the fire, because we must inspire. We raise our fists to tyranny, a high price, freedom is not free." _–_Declaration Day_, by Iced Earth

Chapter 8

Win and lose

_September 17, 1944. Just south of Oosterbeek, Holland. _

It was later in the evening when the 2nd Battalion, after several hours of marching from the LZ finally came into view of their objective, the Arnhem Bridge. Private Lovell caught sight of the steel girders in the setting sunlight and smiled. It had not been a hard journey unlike other roads leading toward Arnhem, the southernmost road that ran alongside the Rhine had been largely undefended, so the battalion had been making its way toward the bridge without hindrance.

"I don't blame them fer not putting up a fight" White laughed as the two friends marched with their fellow Airborne down the dirt road, "they're probably scared shiteless".

"Aye, they probably saw us landing and ran all the way back to Berlin" Lovell agreed, and the two men laughed.

"Stay alert you two!" shouted their sergeant, causing them to cease laughing and try to put on straight faces.

The battalion continued to move down the road in silent marching. The bridge drew ever closer, and eventually Lieutenant Colonel Frost took out a pair of binoculars to recon the bridge. To his surprise, there was no sign of the forward recon forces that had been sent to secure the front end of the bridge.

"There doesn't appear to be any sign of 2nd Recon sir" one of the sergeants pointed out the obvious, and Frost wore under his breath.

Where the devil were they?

After several minutes, the commander came to a decision. "Company leaders, assemble" he shouted into the ranks of men that were assembled around him. Several lieutenants and a major came forward.

"Right men, the 2nd Recon seems to have failed to reach the bridge, so we must assume it is still in German hands. We will divide the battalion into two groups. The first group will secure the buildings around the front of the bridge; the second will form a defensive line on the bridge itself. Dismissed!"

Private Lovell soon found himself, along with White, being grouped with several of his comrades. After this was done, the group began moving down the road swiftly toward the bridge, while the second group heading further northward toward Arnhem. This patter was understandable. The bridge itself went right up to the city of Arnhem itself, and several buildings were in key defensive positions. There was a sort of crossroads right in front of the bridge. One road went off to the east, which was the very road on which the battalion was traveling now. Another went off to the west, presumably toward Germany. The other two which went north into Arnhem and south across the bridge. Control of this key crossroad was critical, and Frost knew it.

As the battalion moved further up the road at a quicker pace, the men splintered into their respective groups, with one heading more northish toward the buildings. The group in which Lovell and White resided made its way toward the bridge. They came a little bit closer to the crossroads, when suddenly, the fire started. An MG-42 was positioned in a small house like building right next to the bridge, and several other shots were fired from windows in the buildings near the north end of the crossroads. It was a perfect setup to bracket anyone who came down the roads from any direction.

At this point, the men had scattered into their respective squads, and Sergeant Lesley shouted to his men: "I want that MG in the building next to the bridge out of commission now!"

Lovell, who was crouching behind a stone wall that ran next to the road, dividing it from the slope that went down to the Rhine River, began moving slowly along the wall toward the specified building. White was right behind his good friend along with two other paratroopers, Private Cromwell and Corporal Dobson. The four men managed to reach the front odor of the building, but were cautious about entering. Suddenly, a shot bounced off the wall near Lovell, and that settled the matter. With one solid hit from the butt of his rifle, White opened the door.

Almost immediately, MP40 fire rocketed through the open door, but since the four British soldiers were taking cover on either side of the door, no one was hurt. Corporal Dobson took a grenade and pulled the pin before tossing it into through the doorway. There were shouts from inside, then a loud explosion, followed by screams. Dobson aimed his Thompson through the door and fired off several rounds before moving inside. The first room was the living room. Dobson saw a bloody chunk leaning against an overturned couch, presumably the man hit by the grenade earlier.

The corporal took another step inside when a German who was hiding behind a chair near the couch suddenly popped out and fired off several shots at the door with a Gewehr 43 Rifle. The three shots that the man fired hit the door frame and wall near it, causing Dobson to jump back. The German took cover once more as the paratrooper fired his Thompson into the house several more times. With the enemy suppressed, he took out another grenade and chucked it as close to the chair as he could. The German soldier tried to bolt from cover to escape the deadly explosive, but he was instantly met by a hail of Tommy fire that struck him dead.

"We're clear, move in and secure the rest of the house" Dobson ordered the other men, and the four soldiers swarmed into the house.

Lovell's attention was drawn to a staircase just on the left side of the living room. While the other men cleared the remaining downstairs room, the private made his way as cautiously as he could up the steps. The stairs led u into an attic just above the house where a MG-42 was set up in a window that looked out over the bridge. Lovell saw the MG but no operator.

There was the sound of footsteps off to Charlie's right, and he turned just in time to see a German soldier dressed in the grey outfit and wearing the classic bubble helmet of a Heer infantry man advancing toward him. Before the British man could react, the German laid a solid punch on his jaw, causing the rifle in Lovell's hand to clatter to the ground. The two men then began a death grapple as they both struggled to gain an advantage. The MG operator attempted to throw another punch, but Lovell managed to doge it before delivering his own to the man's stomach.

The Wehrmacht soldier stumbled back a ways and Charlie attempted to retrieve his rifle. He ran over to the firearm and had just bent down to pick it up, when he felt a pair of string arms wrap around him. With an inhuman roar, the German lifted him in the air and flung Lovell to the ground away from the gun. The Para attempted to get up, but was stopped when he saw the German, with a vicious scowl, pull a Hitler Youth Knife from his sheath. Lovell, remembering boot camp, rolled across the floor before standing up. His opponent advanced on his, knife poised. As soon as Charlie stood up, the latter raised his knife and charge at him with a yell.

The Brit got ready to attempt a jump off to the left, when a loud "crack" sounded through the attic. The German stumbled forward a few feet, and fell toward Charlie. He attempted to grab onto the young private, staring at him in shock. Lovell watched as the life left the man's eyes before he crumpled to the floor, before looking up to see White with his Lee Enfield Rifle still in firing position, and smoke coming from the barrel.

"You alright, Charlie?" he asked with concern.

"Aye, thanks to you" the latter nodded to his comrade as the sounds of footsteps on the stairs announced the arrival of Dobson and Cromwell.

White helped Lovell to his feet as Dobson ran over to the window in which the MG-42 was set up and looked out over the bridge.

"Lovell, get on this MG and give our boys some covering fire" the corporal ordered him, pointing toward the bridge.

Charlie looked out onto the bridge and could see a squad of his comrades was pinned down behind a line of sandbags that ran across the middle of the steel structure by a squad of Gerrys that were in a similar position a few feet south of the British. The MG-42 was in a perfect position as Lovell now realized and he got behind it with all haste. Remembering what he could about German weaponry from the field manual, the young soldier loaded on to the side one of the large drum-like magazines onto the slot on the side and yanked back the odd handle on the side of the massive weapon.

"Fire!" shouted Corporal Dobson, and Lovell let a rip with machine gun.

"BRAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!" the gun that had been nicknamed "Hitler's Buzz Saw" was well named. The noise that was made as Charlie held down the trigger was the loudest he had ever heard, and the gun itself shook violently in his grasp.

Bullets began to pepper the Germans below. Clouds of dust shot up where the bullets struck the sandbags that the enemy was hiding behind. One of the Germans stood up in an effort to fire on the MG position, but he was struck down almost instantly by a hail of fire from the paratroopers near the opposite sandbag wall. The other Wehrmacht soldiers attempted to run. Seeing this, Lovell aimed the MG-42 as best he could at them and fired. The three men were cut down almost instantly, and the rate of fire was so powerful that, on several of the retreating men, limbs came off.

Other Germans began following their comrades' example and began retreating south across the bridge. Lovell fired on them until he had to reload, but rather than bother to, he simply watched as the Krauts fled for their lives.

Lieutenant-Colonel Frost watched through his binoculars as the enemy withdrew from the northern sector of the bridge and smiled.

"Right, we'll set up a command post in one of the buildings near the bride once our men have secured the area" he explained to his second in command, Major Gough.

"Yes sir" was Gough's reply, and the two men continued to watch the battle to the end.

Frost smiled as they did so. Everything was going according to plan.

* * *

_December 19, 1944. Five miles from Bastogne, Luxembourg/Belgium Border._

Corporal Nichols could still hear a slight ringing in his ears from the tank firing on him as he, Sergeant Guzzo, and Private Laughlin made their way through the snow covered forest that they had moved deeper into, in order to avoid the Panzer IV that was on their tail. Guzzo had to half drag Nichols who was still a little disorientated. Eventually, the G.I.s game to a small clearing, and Nichols collapsed against a tree, trying to catch his bearing.

"I'll be fine, just give me a minute" he huffed when Guzzo offered him a hand.

"We don't have a minute" the latter reminded Nichols, before taking his hand and pulling him to his feet.

The three men continued to run through the trees until, at last, they reached their objective. The boat house that Guzzo had mentioned was there, and in surprisingly good shape considering the recent events. Leaving Nichols to get a grip on himself, Guzzo rushed to the doors of the small, shack-like structure and flung them open. He let out a laugh of relief when he discovered that, against all odds, a small rowboat sat inside the boathouse.

"C'mon Nichols, you've been hit with worse! Get your ass up and give me a hand" the sergeant shouted to his friend, who, with a bit of effort, pushed himself away from the wall and made his way over to the entrance.

The two soldiers pulled the boat from its lodging and moved out onto the small dock that traveled from the boat house out into the river (they had to do so, as the ice that formed on the banks of the river made launching the boat from the side impossible). Once their getaway vehicle had been launched, the three soldiers prepared to board. Guzzo went first, cautiously stepping into the boat, and watching as it sank a little in the water. Nichols followed, then Laughlin.

Lacking paddles, Guzzo began to move the small craft across the treacherous, icy waters with the butt of his Thompson, and Nichols followed suit with his M1 Garand while Laughlin, armed with the M3 Grease Gun that one of the unknown privates had been armed with earlier, watched for the enemy. It was not long before the trio heard shouting coming from the direction of the boathouse, and Nichols was actually grateful for the snow that was falling as it hid them somewhat. They paddled a little ways in silence, listening to the shouts and calls of their German pursuers back on shore. Suddenly, a light shone from a ways down the river, and Nichols realized with a sudden lurch in his stomach that the light came from the Germans on the bridge just a few yards down river.

The light fell on the boat, exposing the group, even through the snow and darkness. There were loud shouts from both the directions of the bridge and the boathouse. In moments, the gunshots followed, and Nichols flinched as he heard bullets striking the water near their miniature craft.

"Keep paddling, don't stop!" Guzzo shouted over the gun fire.

Nichols, giving it all he could, fought his way through the water furiously. Though he could not see through the falling snow very well, Laughlin could still see the patch of light where the spotlight that was shining on them was originating from, and he fired off several shots with his Grease Gun at the spot. It had the desired effect, and the light wavered off the group as whoever was working attempted to avoid the shots.

More bullets followed, and then something more horrifying. There was a loud pop from the bridge and a hiss, followed by a massive explosion near the tiny rowboat that flung water high in the air. Droplets of the frigid liquid splashed Nichol's face, making it feel like tiny knives were being stabbed into it, but he kept rowing.

"They've got a goddamn Panzershreck?" Laughlin cried out as another explosion hit the water.

"We're almost there" Guzzo shouted back, trying his best to keep his men's spirits up.

Nichols wasn't sure how accurate a statement this was, since he could not see the opposite bank, but he trusted Guzzo as his friend. The trust was not misplaced. The boat suddenly struck something hard.

"Ice, we've made it!" Guzzo explained before hopping out of the boat onto the frozen barrier.

His two comrades followed suit, and Nichols found himself back on snow covered, but solid ground. They climbed their way up the steep bank and found themselves before another forest. Guzzo hesitated at first, and several shots were suddenly fired at his group. The Germans, having guessed the destination of the boat, had sent several men to the opposite bank to intercept the Americans. Three of these soldiers were now advancing on them, firing as they did.

Without even thinking about it, Laughlin raised his Grease Gun and fired off the rest of his clip at the attackers. All three men fell dead, and Guzzo turned to the private with an impressed look on his face.

"Nice work" he complimented, before leading his men into the forest before them.

It was déjà vu for the most part really. They ran through the snowy trees as fast as they had on the other side of the river, but this time the forest was not as large, and they broke free of the shrubbery fairly quickly. They were immediately met with an incredible sight. The land before them was completely clear, no other forests in sight, slightly hilly, and several islands of light dotted it. The largest of these patches of light was directly across from them.

"Bastogne" Guzzo observed before turning to his compatriots, "Welcome to Belgium fellas".

The group began to trudge toward what they hoped would at last be a safe zone, bit Nichols was still worried.

Who knew how many Germans were between them and Bastogne.

* * *

_Hello folks. I'm sorry if this chapter was a little off chronologically, but I didn't want to bore anybody with long paragraphs of the men marching to Arnhem. Anyway, if there is a problem with the sequencing or combat flow, please let me know so I can improve it. Thanks and happy reading. Cheers. _


	10. Chapter 9

"_The odds are stacked against us, but with our resolve relentless, and arrogance their weakness! Our cause is just, we won't be beaten!" Declaration Day_ by Iced Earth

Chapter 9

Desperate measures

_September 18, 1944. Just outside Arnhem, Holland._

Major Ingram had just finished speaking with General Urquhart, and was making his way back to his men as best he could in the dark. It was around 2:00 in the morning, and the effects of a sleepless night were becoming more apparent. Ingram's mind felt hazy as he struggled to run through the information that Urquhart had just given him.

"Christ man, you need some rest" a voice in the major's mind scolded him.

"No time for rest, there's work to do" another voice argued back.

With the resolve of a British Officer, Ingram walked back to where his SAS men had gathered and were awaiting his orders. The men immediately came to attention when they saw him approaching.

"Right men, we have our orders" the major announced as he moved to the center of the group and glancing around at the mixture of new and old faces, "as you know by now, the enemy has formed a defensive line blocking our route into Arnhem. Our orders are to split up and attack the line from its flanks to weaken it enough for 1st Battalion to break through. Any questions?" the men stayed silent, "good, then I want team one to go with Lieutenant Bray and team two will accompany me. Dismissed!"

There were 200 SAS men in all, and so they divided themselves into two groups of 100. Doyle, Keith, and Starkey made sure to be among those who would be under Ingram, and the major gave them a smile of appreciation at this. When everyone was divvied up into their respective groups, the men parted ways. One group headed back down the road in order to reach the far left flank of the line, while Ingram led his group up the road to reach the far right of it.

The far right consisted of two building with a wall in between them. An MG-42 had been set up on the wall between the structures and soon had the SAS men pinned behind a wall that ran alongside the road. Crouched behind the wall, Ingram gestured toward Doyle who was a few feet from him. As bullets bounced off the top of the wall, Doyle army crawled his way over to his CO.

"I want you, Keith, and Starkey to accompany me, we are going to flank that MG through that house there" Ingram explained, gesturing toward the life on the right of the wall.

"Aye sir, but how the hell do expect to get there?" the latter called back.

"There's a sort of ditch that runs along the road. It goes low enough that I don't think Gerry will spot us. We move through there and then clear out the house and MG position" the major stated his plan, and Doyle gave it a nod of approval.

"But just the four of us, sir?

"A bigger group would just slow us down. Right lads, hold here until the MG fire ceases, then rush that position!" Ingram shouted to the pinned SAS operatives.

The darkness of the early morning hid the four soldiers as they crawled down the ditch toward their target. Ingram went first followed by Doyle who was followed by Keith and Starkey brought up the rear. As it turned out, getting inside the house was easier said than done. Upon reaching the far right side of the building, Ingram and his squad found that several Germans were positioned in a small shop and were covering the road. In order to reach the house, the four men would have to cross the road under fire from the position.

"Right, we do this in two man teams. Keith, you and Starkey suppress those Gerrys in that shop there while me and Doyle cross, then we'll suppress while you two cross" Ingram ordered the Scotsman, who nodded before he and Starkey began peppering the German position with their Stens.

While the Germans fired back with a mixture of Gewehrs an MP-40s, the fire was inaccurate the Wehrmacht men did not dare reveal themselves from cover for too long. Taking advantage of this, Doyle and Ingram ran across the open road as fast as they could. Without slowing down, Doyle ran into the door to the house with his shoulder, and the barrier flew off its hinges. Ingram was right behind Doyle and he saw a German with a Kar98 rifle aiming at the temporarily disorientated lieutenant. In one swift motion, the major pulled a Webley Revolver and fired three shots. One missed, but the other two struck the man in the chest, and he fell dead.

Doyle, regaining his composure, ran over to the dead German. There was a shout, and he looked up to see a Heer man with a knife charging down the stairs from the second floor. Doyle scooped up the Kar98 Rifle from the attacker's dead comrade and fired. The shot struck the man's neck, and he tumbled the rest of the way down the stairs before writhing briefly on the floor making a chocking noise, then all was still.

"Thank you" Doyle nodded to Ingram appreciatively.

"Can't let some Gerry just pop you off while you're out of commission, wouldn't be very sportsmanlike" the latter replied with a grin.

"ANYTIME NOW, GERALD!" came Keith's voice from outside.

"Oh right, Doyle, get in that window and give Keith and Starkey some suppressing fire!" the major gestured toward one of the windows facing the shop before taking up position behind one of his own.

Once Doyle was in position, the two Englishmen fired their own Stens onto the enemy. Shortly afterward, Keith and Starkey entered the house.

"Thought you'd forgotten us, major" Starkey observed.

"Momentary lapse, lieutenant, it's been a late night after all".

Despite their circumstances, the four men laughed. Then, Ingram led the way over to the door opposite where they had entered. He opened it cautiously and found himself looking out onto the backside of the wall. There were at least five Germans taking cover, six including the man working the MG-42, and they were all lined up perfectly.

"Doyle, Keith, get some grenades out there, then mop up any survivors" Ingram whispered to his comrades.

The two SAS men loaded fresh clips into their Stens before taking up positions on either side of the door. After waiting a few seconds, they both took a M2 Fragmentation Grenade from their belts and grasped the pins. They pulled the pins, but did not allow the triggering mechanism to fly off just yet.

"On three" Doyle mouthed to Keith, who nodded, "one….two…three!"

Releasing the mechanism, the two soldiers flung the explosives through the open doorway. There were screams of alarm, which were cut off by two massive explosions. Two of the soldiers were ripped in half by the explosions instantly, including the Machine gunner. Those that were only wounded by shrapnel either fell to the ground shrieking, or attempted to run, which resulted in them being cut down by fire from the paratroopers who were still firing from behind the wall across the road.

Once the area behind the wall was clear, Ingram stepped out and began gesturing for the no longer pinned Airborne to move up. They did so, but were immediately met by fire from the house on the left side of the all. Seeing the men being shot as they crossed the road, Ingram turned back to his squad.

"We have to clear out that other house, let's move!" he shouted before sprinting across the open area between the two structures.

Doyle and the others swiftly followed their CO to the door and got into breaching position. Once this was done, Ingram opened the door, and Doyle threw a grenade inside. The subsequent explosion was followed by screams of pain and fear. Ingram led the way inside, and his squad members gunned down any survivors.

"Starkey, with me upstairs! Doyle, you and Keith clear the basement!" Gerald issued his orders, and the squad split to carry them out.

Doyle went first down the stairwell, and was met with a door leading into the basement. The two comrades took up breaching positions. This time Keith was the one who threw the grenade, but unlike last time, there were no screams following the explosion. Fearing that the enemy was simply behind sturdy cover, the two SAS men entered the basement cautiously. It was average basement with some stored furniture and a rack of wine bottles (which were miraculously untouched by the grenade explosion). Suddenly, there was a yell and a gunshot as a German hiding behind a couch covered with a sheet jumped up and fired off a shot from his Kar98.

The bullet grazed Doyle's neck, and he let out a grunt and fell to the side as Keith opened fire. The German was dead before he could bolt his weapon, and Keith ran over to his old friend to check on his condition.

"It's just a scratch, I'll be fine" Doyle waved off Keith's offer of helping him upstairs and to a medic.

Suddenly, Major Ingram and Starkey entered the basement.

"We 'eard gunshots. Is everything alright?" Starkey inquired.

"Aye, Doyle here just took a nasty winger off the Bosche, he'll be fine though" Keith explained, before turning and making his way over to the wine rack.

"I'll be alright, sir" Doyle concurred to his CO, who still wore a concerned expression.

"It's nothing a little drink won't fix, eh Doyle?" Keith continued in an excited voice as he took one of the bottles from the wine rack and popped the cork from it.

Ingram, a furious look on his face, strode over and grabbed the bottle out of Keith's hands before he could take even a sip from it and smashed it on the ground.

"What the bloody Hell, Gerald?" the Scotsman shouted incredulously.

"Sergeant, you will refer to me as Major or sir, do you understand?" Ingram shouted back.

"Aye sir, but I was just gonna have one wee drink! What the hell is wrong with….!"

"I'll tell you what's wrong with that!" the latter interrupted Keith, "with you, one drink soon becomes two, then three, then ten, and next thing I know, you're out doing some wayward action that makes you look like a fool, makes me look like an ass, and disgraces this entire regiment! NOW GET THE FUCK BACK UPSTAIRS!"

All was quiet as Doyle and Starkey looked on in total shock. Doyle was not sure he had ever heard Ingram say the f-word before. After another few minutes silence, Keith saluted the major and mumbled "aye, sir" before trudging upstairs. Ingram gave Doyle and Starkey an exasperated look, then followed the sergeant; Starkey went next. Doyle took one last look at the wine rack before heading up as well.

It was shaping up to be a shitty night.

* * *

_December 19, 1944. Eight miles east of Noville, Belgium. _

It was sunrise and Guzzo, Nichols, and Laughlin were still walking through the deep snow toward Bastogne. Now however, as the rising sun began to illuminate the snow blanketed countryside, the three Americans could see the amount of Germans between them and safety. There were whole temporary camps of the enemy all over the open countryside, and several of these camps had multiple tanks with them.

"Jesus Christ, it's a full offensive" Guzzo whispered upon stopping to survey the line of Germans.

"Yeah, and it's between us and Bastogne" Nichols observed dishearteningly.

Guzzo let out a heavy sigh and took the helmet form his head. It was tough being the guy in charge sometimes. After a few minutes, he looked back out from behind the small barn that the three men had taken cover behind. After scanning the horizon a bit more, the sergeant noticed a Panzer IV tank that had been pulled over to the side of the road to be refueled. A grin came across Guzzo's face as a crazy, yet possibly genius, plan formed in his mind.

"What if we jack that Panzer?" Salvador suggested to Nichols, gesturing toward the pulled over tank.

"Are you crazy? What good will that do?" the latter exclaimed.

"It's a goddamn tank; we can blow right through those Krauts and pull into Bastogne in style".

"No way, none of us even knows how to drive that thing".

"How different could it be from a car?" Guzzo asked with a shrug.

"You tell me what model car has 3 inch armor and 7.5 cm cannon, and I'll back this" Nichols shot back.

"Do you have any better suggestions?" the sergeant demanded, causing Nichols to fall silent. Guzzo let out a sigh and looked back around the corner at the tank, then back at his two comrades. "Look, there are only three guys guarding it. We can take 'em, it may be our best shot at getting past Fritz" he pushed his point one last time.

After a few minutes of thought, Nichols nodded in consent. "Alright, I'm in" he agreed, and then they both turned to Laughlin.

"Hey, you guys ain't got me killed yet. Guess that's gotta count for something" the private observed with a shrug.

"Alright, let's move".

A few minutes later, one of the Germans was lighting a cigarette when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned and found himself face to face with Guzzo.

"Gutentag" the American sergeant said with a smile before hitting the German in the face with the butt of his Thompson, knocking the man out.

Another German poked his head out of the tank's hatch, and Laughlin instantly had his rifle wrapped around the Kraut's neck, choking him until he too passed out. Nichols had already knocked out the German fueling the tank in back, and Guzzo prepared to get in the tank, when he paused and returned to the soldier he had taken out. After some digging around in the man's pockets, the sergeant found what he was looking for, a pack of cigarettes.

"Thanks brother" he nodded to the unconscious German before climbing into the tank with his two other squad members.

The inside of the tank was a very cramped space, especially since a large stack of shells took a large portion of the back. Guzzo took position in the driver's seat, and glanced out the small opening in front of him. The snow covered road stretched out before them.

"We all fueled up?" he asked.

"Yeah, they were just finishing up when we hit 'em" Nichols replied.

Guzzo glanced around at the set of switches and pedals before him. How the heck did one start this crazy contraption? After a few experimental tries, he found the button, and the tank roared to life.

"Right, it's just like a big car, so…." He pushed down on the largest of the pedals at his feet, and the behemoth lurched forward down the road.

The three men were rather excited as they continued down the road in their tank, yes they were already beginning to think of it as _their_ tank, until they came to one of the camps. Watching through the observation port, Guzzo saw several heads turn to watch them, but no one tried to stop the vehicle. Just as they made it through the blockade and began to breathe a sigh of relief, a voice crackled through on the radio. The voice spoke in rapid German, and none of them could understand what it was saying.

"What's he saying?" Laughlin asked aloud.

"He's asking about your sister" Guzzo shot back sarcastically.

"Very fucking funny, seriously, what's he saying?"

"I don't have a fucking clue, who am I, von Hindenburg?"

Suddenly, the voice on the radio became harsher, and spoke more rapidly.

"Oooh, that don't sound good" Laughlin observed.

"Gee, you think?" Guzzo retaliated, switching off the radio.

"Ithink we're doing something wrong, and I think they're noticing" Nichols broke in.

Suddenly, an explosion was heard, and the tank rattled slightly.

"Shit, get up there and see what the Hell's going on!" Guzzo ordered Nichols, and the corporal opened up the tank hatch before sticking his head out into the cold air.

He swore loudly upon turning around and spotting two Panzer IIIs right behind them were giving chase and firing on the hijacked Panzer IV.

"We got company; two Panzer IIIs are trying to take us out!" Nichols called back down to his compatriots.

Guzzo pushed the gas pedal all the way to the floor, and the tank lurched forward at full speed. But it was a medium class tank, and had no hope of outrunning the fast light tanks on its tail. It did have its own advantage, however.

"Laughlin, get that turret turned around and load in a shell" he shouted to the private.

"What?" the latter shouted back in surprise.

"We got a bigger gun than them, what good is it if we don't use it?"

Laughlin did as he was told, and swiveled the tank's turret so it was facing the enemy in the rear. Nichols called out corrections as best he could as the private loaded in tanks shells and fired them back at the pursuing tanks.

"Move it a little to the left!" with this correction, Laughlin fired, and this time heard a loud explosion and a yell of triumph from Nichols. "You got one, you got one" the corporal called down the hatch.

"What about the other one?" Guzzo queried.

"He's….he's turning back, he's running" Nichols reported with a laugh of triumph.

Guzzo stopped the tank, and moved over to the hatch. Nichols ducked back down inside to allow the latter to move up through the hatch and take a look for himself. The Panzer III was indeed in retreat, and the sergeant made his own yell of victory.

"I don't get it, why did he run?" Laughlin asked, the anxiousness clear in his voice.

"Cause he's scared shitless, that's why" Guzzo replied dismissively.

An explosion suddenly erupted just off to the tank's left, and Guzzo spun around to face a terrifying sight. A small town was only yards ahead, and positioned in front of the town were two M18 Tanks Destroyers; American tanks destroyers.

"Holy shit, wait, stop, we're American!" the sergeant shouted in vain as the AT vehicles continued to fire on what they perceived as the enemy.

"Everybody out, now!" Guzzo screamed as he climbed out of the hatch and jumped off the tank.

The other two followed his suit, with Nichols exiting last. Just as he was about to leap off the back of the tank, one of the AT shells hit its mark, and the front of the tank exploded, sending Nichols flying off the back and into the soft, snowy ground.

"Krauts try to kill us, and now our own countrymen! This is turning out to be one shitty day!" was the last thought that passed through Jack's mind before the inky blackness of unconsciousness overtook him.

* * *

_Hello folks, well I'll be honest, the future of this story was rather sketchy for a little bit. But after receiving some rather reinvigorating reviews, I have decided to see it through to the end. I would just like to close by saying that, in my humble opinion, there are too few WW2 stories in the CoD category. Any of you authors out there who are reading, I challenge you to write your own story set in WWII, the veterans of which, the first game of this great series was dedicated to. Happy reading, and thanks for the reviews, they gave this story a future :). Cheers. _


	11. Chapter 10

"_There comes a time in the affairs of men when they must prepared to defend not only their homes alone, but the tenets of faith and humanity…" _–Franklin D. Roosevelt

Chapter 10

Ask not

_December 19, 1944. Noville, Belgium._

Upon managing to identify themselves as fellow countrymen to Noville's defenders, Guzzo and Laughlin helped the town medic carry the unconscious Nichols into a small tavern that had been converted into a field hospital. The three men laid Jack flat the bar, and the medic began to look him over. Finally, after several tense minutes, the doc approached Guzzo.

"He'll be fine. He's a little dinged up but, aside from being out cold, there's no severe damage" he explained to the relieved sergeant and Laughlin.

"Good, I need to talk to whoever's in charge here" Guzzo replied.

"That'd be Lieutenant Foyer" the medic explained, then went back to patching up Nichols as best he could.

Guzzo exited the tavern and, after asking around a little, managed to locate Foyer overseeing the setting up some several MG positions overlooking the still smoldering wreckage of the Panzer IV that they had hijacked.

"I want a M18 set up in between the machineguns" the lieutenant was shouting as Guzzo approached him.

"Sir" he called and Foyer turned to face him.

"What is the situation on the left flank sergeant?" the senior office inquired.

"I don't know sir, we just got here. I was wondering if anyone from Camp Cullman came through here" Salvador explained.

"I haven't got a clue, son. All I know is that the Krauts are on the full offensive, and command in Bastogne has ordered us to slow their advance on the town while the 101st Airborne set up a perimeter".

"So you don't know if there were any survivors from Camp Cullman?"

"If there were, then they evacuated to Bastogne, that's where everyone is rallying in this area".

Guzzo let out a sigh. If Huxley was alive, the he was either in German hands or in Bastogne. After a few minutes of thought, he looked back at Foyer.

"Then me and my guys gotta get to Bastogne, do you have a jeep or something we could use?" the sergeant requested.

Foyer's eyebrows rose slightly. "You and your men aren't going anywhere, sergeant. I need every man I can get here. No, y'all are staying here" he told Guzzo; it more of a command than a statement.

"But sir…" the latter began to protest, but Foyer raised a hand.

"You are staying until we are ordered to retreat. That is all, sergeant" the lieutenant said sharply, then turned to continue surveying the defense preparations.

Guzzo might have said something in protest, but he realized it would do no good, so he turned and trudged back to the tavern. Laughlin was assisting the medic as best he could when his sergeant entered. He looked up at Guzzo expectantly.

"Lieutenant says that we ain't going anywhere, that he needs us here" the NCO explained in a heavy voice.

"Doc says they're expecting a big attack on this place" Frank replied, anxiousness clear in his eyes and tone.

"Yeah, and we're gonna be right in the thick of it" Guzzo said with another sigh, staring at the closed eyes of Nichols.

"Wherever you're at pal, it's gotta be better than here" he thought.

* * *

_January 22, 1944. Philadelphia, U.S.A._

_Jack Nicholson heard the sound of the whistle that indicated the ending of the day's work. He had been in the process of riveting another plate onto a P50 Mustang fighter plane. Hearing the shrill sound however, Jack dropped the riveter, and clocked out like the rest of his coworkers. _

"_Hard working Jack supports his fellow man from a factory floor, I'll never understand you Jack" said a voice behind him. _

_He turned to see Laura Phillips, a young, red-haired woman in a pair of coveralls and a bandanna wrapped around her forehead. She looked like Rosie the Riveter in real life. _

"_C'mon Laura, we've already had this chat" Jack replied with a grin. _

"_How you're not in combat like a real man?" the redhead teased. _

"_Hey, you know my folks; they wouldn't let both me and my brother go off to fight". _

_Laura laughed, and Jack noticed a small smudge of grease on her cheek. He grabbed a rag and wiped the splotch off saying, "you got some grease on your face there". _

_Laura smiled at him. "I'll see you tomorrow" she chirped, before clocking out and exiting the factory.  
_

_Jack watched her leave with a grin, and then followed. Once outside, he walked the twelve blocks through the snow covered streets to his brownstone house that he shared with his parents (the rationing of tires and gas had crippled the Philadelphia bus system). Upon arriving before the compact structure, he stopped by the mailbox and pulled out a few envelopes before climbing the steps to the front door. _

"_I'm home" he called upon entering the domicile. _

_There was no reply, and so Jack continued into the kitchen where he found his mother cooking. Mrs. Nicholson smiled at her son and gave him a cheerful "welcome home". As his mother continued to stir a pot of chili (Jack's favorite) the young, black-haired man flipped through the mail in his hand. _

_Jack stopped when he came to an envelope that had the return address of "Pavuvu, Solomon Islands". _

_Seeing this, he immediately tore open the letter and began reading it. _

Dear Jack,

Sorry it's been so long since I wrote. I've been on…(there was a black line covering the next few words that had evidentially been added by the censor board)…but I hope this letter gets to you in time for your birthday. Just wanting to whish you a happy 20th birthday and let the folks know I'm alright.

Tell mom I miss her and dad too.

Your brother, Robert.

_Jack smiled at his brother's words. "My brother the Marine" he thought with a chuckle. _

"_What's so funny?" his mother inquired. _

"_Rob sent me a letter whishing me happy Birthday" the latter replied. _

"_That's wonderful, how is he doing?"_

"_Sounds like he's doing fine" Jack replied with a shrug._

_He saw the worry on his mother's face, and walked over before giving her a small hug. "I'm sure he'll be fine, Rob's a fighter". _

"_I know, now c'mon, I made your favorite for you birthday dinner" Mrs. Nicholson gestured toward the simmering pot of chili. _

"_Mmmm, how many ration stamps did you have to save up for that?" Jack asked, licking his lips. _

"_A lot, now go, get to the dinner table" his mother nudged his with her elbow, and he headed out into the dining room, leaving the rest of the mail on the counter. _

"_SURPRISE!" the mighty shout caused Jack to jump. _

_His father, Laura from the factory, and his best friend, Ben Garcia (who was dressed in an army uniform) all sat at the large dinner table. _

"_Happy Birthday, Jack" Ben shouted with a grin. _

_The newly 22 year-old young man grinned wider than ever at the people sitting around the table. _

_It was the best Birthday he ever had._

* * *

_December 19, 1944. Noville, Belgium. _

Guzzo and Laughlin sat behind a wall of sandbags that had been set up facing the open countryside, on which the movements of the Germans were clear. Several sarge shapes that were doubtlessly tanks were making their way toward the small village. The M18 Tank Destroyers were in position, as were the MG teams.

Guzzo and Laughlin had been assigned to defend the MG on the left side of one of the M18s. Now, as they watched the enemy armor rushing toward Noville. Suddenly, the first of the armor came into range, and explosions began erupting all over the forward perimeter. Guzzo crouched down behind the sandbags, clutching his helmet as a shell struck near them. There was a gurgled scream from the MG gunner, and the sergeant looked over to see a piece of shrapnel had gone into the man's neck.

The private fell over dead, and Guzzo quickly took his spot of the Browning M1919. As the tanks came into range of the AT vehicles, they too opened fire. It was not just armor fights however, German soldiers were moving on foot behind the tanks, and began assaulting the line as well.

As a M18 moved a little and narrowly dodged a Panzershreck rocket. Guzzo, having followed the rocket's trail to the enemy with the Anti-tank weapon, began spraying bullets with the MG.

"C'mon, we gotta keep 'em hosed" Salvador shouted to Laughlin, who was firing with his M3 Grease Gun.

"I'm trying, I'm trying" the private shouted back as he reloaded.

A Panzer III fired a shell that struck the front of the M18 next to the MG position. The vehicle shook a little, then rotated its turret and fired back. The enemy tank burst into flames, and both Guzzo and Laughlin gave a cheer. Suddenly, several bullets hit the sandbags in front of them. Another tank had moved into range and was firing its hull MG at the two soldiers.

"Hit that guy there" Guzzo shouted, and, whether the M18 crew heard him or not, the AT vehicle did indeed fix its turret on the Panzer and fired; another tank down.

More infantry were advancing on the line, and since the M18s had not anti-infantry defense, it was up to the MGs to keep them suppressed. Laughlin helped Guzzo reload, who then continued to fire on the Heer infantry. More explosions began popping up all around, although the whistling noises told Guzzo that these shots were from enemy artillery.

"Jesus, they got every last bit of firepower in Germany out there!" Laughlin observed.

"They're trying to flank us" a soldier pointed out, and Guzzo noticed that many of the infantry were indeed moving off to the left.

"C'mon, we gotta intercept" the sergeant ordered Laughlin, and the two men broke down the machine gun, before moving out of the safety of the sandbags and toward the buildings that made up the left flank of town.

"Where the Hell is Nichols when you need him" Guzzo thought bitterly.

* * *

_January 22, 1944. Philadelphia, U.S.A. _

_Jack carried his dishes into the kitchen and began washing them in the sink while listening to the conversation in the dining room. Ben entered carrying his own dishes, and set them down next to the sink. _

"_So how are things overseas?" Jack inquired. _

"_Shitty, we took a shit ton of casualties in Italy. We're not really supposed to talk about really" Ben replied, shaking his head. _

"_Well, what about you, what do you think?"_

"_It's fucked up. That's all I can say" the Corporal looked down at the ground, then looked back up at his friend with a smile. _

"_But enough about that shit; how's life on the home front? Laura says that you are one hell of a riveter". _

_Jack blushed slightly. "Laura always says that to anybody" he brushed off the compliment. _

_Ben gave him a sly look. "She's pretty easy on the eyes to, huh?" he continued, noting the redness in Jack's face. _

"_Go get the other dishes for me will ya" the latter said suddenly, and Ben gave a shrug before heading back into the dining room. _

_Jack tuned off the faucet and let out a sigh. He turned away from the sink and spotted the pile of envelopes on the counter. Realizing that he hadn't even looked at them all yet, Jack picked up the messages and continued to flip through them._

_He was surprised when he came upon another letter with his name on it, although this one had the address typed on it, rather than written. Opening the envelope, Jack read over the letter inside, and felt his stomach drop. _

"_Jackie, you're going to miss dessert" Mrs. Nicholson entered the kitchen with a bright smile on her face. _

_Jack gave no reply only stared at the letter in his hand. _

"_What's wrong?" his mother asked. _

_Without saying a word, her son put the letter down on the counter and left the kitchen. Perplexed at this behavior, Mrs. Nicholson picked up the letter and began to read it. She let out a small gasp as she did so, and her eyes began to fill with tears._

_Ben entered the kitchen and saw Mrs. Nicholson with tears in her eyes and a look of horror on her face. _

"_Mrs. Nicholson, what's wrong?" the soldier asked in surprise. _

_She too said nothing, only handed the letter to Ben. He glanced over it, and immediately recognized the document. _

_The letter was a draft notice. _

* * *

_December 19, 1944. Noville, Belgium. _

Guzzo and Laughlin entered one of the houses on the left flank of Noville; Guzzo carrying the Browning M1919, Laughlin the tripod. Several soldiers were holding out in the main living room when they entered.

"Sergeant, what's going on?" one of the privates asked.

"Gerry's heading this way, trying to flank the AT line. We gotta hold 'em off" was all Guzzo said, before heading upstairs.

Once on the top floor, the two soldiers set up the Browning in one of the windows. It was not a moment too soon. Germans appeared around a small snow covered bend. As soon as the white clad figures appeared, Guzzo opened up. The MG shook in his hands as he continued to fire down on the enemy below.

Several of the Germans began firing back up at them, and at one point the fire was so fierce, that Salvador was forced to duck down for a moment as the bullets struck all around the window frame. When he sat back up, he caught sight of several Germans moving toward the door of the house.

"Get downstairs and help out the guys down there! They'll be coming in" he shouted to Laughlin, who nodded and ran back downstairs.

The young private moved down the steps quickly and reached the bottom just as the door to the living room burst open. There was metallic noise as a stielhandgranate was thrown into the room. The explosion killed two of the soldiers defending the room, and disabled the other by taking off his right arm. The man screamed loudly until he was shot by a German soldier with an MP40 who entered through the breached door.

Taking cover behind the corner of wall that was formed by the small closet like space that the stairwell was in, Laughlin fired on the intruder with his Grease Gun. The Kraut went down, but three more entered, two with Mp40s, one with a StG44. Laughlin was severely outgunned. Bullets began to fly into the walls around him, and the private retreated up the stairs.

At the top he called to Guzzo: "there's too many of 'em, we're outnumbered".

The sergeant swore loudly, and then took up the Browning. He then positioned himself on the ground, using the barrel tripod, aiming at the stairs. Laughlin got behind a box, also aiming at the stairwell. The two men waited anxiously for the enemy to come up.

Instead however, there was another metallic noise, and another grenade was thrown up the stairs.

"OH SHIT!" Guzzo shouted as he abandoned his Browning to take cover behind a chair.

Then, the explosive went off.

* * *

_January 22, 1944. Philadelphia, U.S.A._

_Jack sat out on the front steps of the Brownstone that was his home. The cold night air did not really bother him as he tried to absorb the letter he had just read. It was draft notice, informing him that he was to report for duty within 48 hours. As he continued to dwell on the notice, the door opened, and Ben stepped outside. He said nothing, only gave Jack a pat on the shoulder before heading down the steps to his car (which miraculously still had tires) then drove off into the night. _

_After a few more minutes, the door opened once more, and his mother appeared. She moved down the steps and stood next to her son, who was still staring out onto the sow covered street. After a moment's silence, she cleared her throat, drawing Jack's attention to her. _

"_We've talked about it, your father and me…" she began in a low, shaky voice, "we have some money saved up, you could take it and go to Canada or Mexico and…"_

_Jack was already shaking his head. "No mom, I'm not running" he said resolutely. _

"_No, you aren't going" his mother protested. _

"_Mom, I'm not gonna run. Rob didn't run. He's doing his duty, he's…"_

"_No, no, NO!" Mrs. Nicholson's voice rose to a scream, then she broke down sobbing and embraced her son tightly._

"_Mom, I don't have a…"_

"_Robert going was bad enough. Please, not you too" Mrs. Nicholson moaned through her tears, "I don't want lose both my boys, my only boys" she hysterical. _

_Mr. Nicholson came outside, having heard the noise, and helped his wife back inside as she continued to cry helplessly, moaning "not both of them, please dear God, not both of them". _

_After his parents had gone back inside, Laura exited the house and went to sit next to Jack, who was now sitting on the step he had been standing on looking absolutely miserable. _

"_So you're going to go then?" she asked quietly. _

"_It's a draft notice, I have no choice" the latter replied dejectedly. _

"_Guess you'll finally be in combat like a real man" the redhead attempted her usual taunt, but it only made him look more upset. _

"_Look, I didn't mean…" Laura attempted an apology, but Jack cut her off. _

"_No, you're right. It should have been me out there not Robert" he sighed. _

"_Robert is doing the best he can, and that's all anyone can ask of you" the young woman assured him, putting an arm around his._

_Jack looked up at Laura appreciatively and the too locked eyes for a moment. Then, they kissed, a deep passionate kiss. After a moment, they pulled apart, and Laura stood up to leave. As he walked down the stairs, she stopped at the bottom step and turned to face the man she now realized that she loved. _

"_Please, come back alive, Jack" she begged him._

"_I will, I promise" he called back, "I promise". _

* * *

Nichol's eyes suddenly flew open, and he was greeted by a loud explosion, which caused him to jump to the floor and get underneath the bar on which he had been lying. After several confused minutes, he remembered the tank explosion and where he was.

"Back in the middle of Hell" he thought, as he grabbed a M1 Carbine that was leaning against the bar and headed outside into the battle raging for the town of Noville.

* * *

_Hello folks. I'm sorry if the combat in this chapter didn't flow as smothly as it has in other chapters, but I wanted to focus more on some background for Nichols in this chapter. Anyway, please leave a review and let me know what you think of the story I've created for our faceless hero. Happy reading. Cheers. _


	12. Chapter 11

"_They were killing my friends"_ –Audie Murphy, upon being asked what spurred his heroic actions at the Battle of Holtzwhir.

Chapter 11

Death and all his friends

_September 18, 1944. Arnhem Bridge, Holland._

Private Lovell sat near a Bren LMG that had been set up in the window of the building on the right side of the bridge that he and White had helped capture the day before. Of course, now the building was occupied by the two friends and three of their comrades. A defensive perimeter had been set up around the north end of the bridge; however, the Germans had made no attempt to retake the key objective…yet.

"Where are they? They won't just let us hold onto this bridge like it's nothing. Something's not right" Lovell's frustration broke out finally as he stared at the bridge outside the window.

"You're the only man I know that wishes the enemy would attack" White observed with a shake of his head.

"Fighting sounds more interesting than sitting on our arses all day" the latter retorted, as he picked up his Lee-Enfield Rifle and began to fiddle with the bolt.

"They'll be 'ere soon enough" was all White said, and then everything went quite once more.

Lovell continued to play with the bolt on his rifle as he and White sat next to the Bren, talking very little at first. Suddenly, Charlie inquired: "how's your boy?"

White smiled at the memory of his young son and wife. "E's alright, turning three in a few days. Once this whole thing is over, I'm gonna write 'im and wish 'im a 'appy birthday" he replied.

Lovell couldn't help but envy his old friend. Charlie was neither a parent nor even married, though there was a girl that worked in a shop down the street from his home in Grantham that he was rather sweet on. What was her name again? Margaret that was it, that was her name. He was still thinking about this, when there came a shout from outside.

"Gerrys, they're coming across the bridge!"

White and Lovell shared a brief look, and then leapt to their feet. Lovell looked out the window and could see that multiple figures dressed in the iconic green camouflage outfits of SS troopers.

"Get on that LMG and keep them suppressed. Someone let Lieutenant Frost know that the Gerrys are counterattacking!" Sergeant Price was shouting orders in an instant.

White took up his position behind the Bren, while Lovell grabbed his Lee-Enfield rifle and aimed out the next window over. The paratroopers on the bridge had already begun engaging the Germans attempting to cross, and White began firing down in short bursts with the Bren. Despite this pour down of fire, the SS men made their way slowly but surely, using sandbag walls and abandoned cars for cover.

Lovell zeroed in on a soldier with a Gewehr 43 who was breaking from cover to run to another, further up the bridge. The British Private fired a shot, which struck the ground near his target. Charlie swore as he bolted his rifle and tried again. This time, the bullet met it's mark, and hit the SS soldier in the leg. The man fell to the ground and, after briefly clutching his leg in pain, attempted to crawl to the cover he was originally running for. Lovell swiftly bolted his weapon, and then fired at the downed enemy. The bullet hit the German's head, and he went limp.

"That's one for me" the young man shouted excitedly.

"I'm around eight me self" White called back teasingly.

The latter grinned at the prospect of competition, and went back to looking for targets. He found one in the form of a soldier on the bridge who had taken cover behind a car at an angle such that Lovell could see the man very clearly. With one shot aimed at the man's torso, he was dead (if there was one thing Charlie admired, it was the accuracy of his rifle). Most of the other attacking SS men were being cut down by Bren and Browning positions set up along the sandbag wall on the British controlled side of the bridge.

"It's massacre down there" White observed as he stopped to reload his Bren.

"But they keep coming, persistent bastards" Lovell pointed out.

Both he and White continued to fire on the enemy, but their fire remained little more than suppression, as it was obvious that the MG positions at the sandbag wall were getting most of the kills. This started to agitate Lovell.

"We should get down there and give 'em a hand" he suggested to Sergeant Price, who shook his head.

"My orders are to hold this building. We're not leaving it!"

"But sir, all the Gerrys are down at the bridge, and…" Lovell began to protest, but Price cut him off.

"We're not leaving this building, Private! Now get back to shooting!"

Charlie did as he was told and went back to shooting at the soldiers down on the bridge. He got two more confirmed kills and managed to wound a German in the leg, when a large armored vehicle began making its way across the bridge.

"It's a Puma, they got a Puma" White shouted to Price as he fired at the armored recon vehicle, though to no avail.

The MG positions at the north end had no better luck, and the air was filled with the sounds of the bullets bouncing off the Puma's armor. The Puma itself was an eight wheeled armored car equipped with a MG-42 in its hull as well as a 2 inch auto cannon. It was used primarily for a recon vehicle, and not for actual battle, so the Germans use of it to rush the bridge was rather risky. However, it was working. The paratroopers were unable to damage the Puma, and it rolled further up the bridge, the infantry right behind it.

"Somebody get a PIAT and hit that bugger!" Price shouted loudly.

Unfortunately, there were no PIATs in the house, so Lovell and his comrades could only watch as the Puma continued to advance. Not one to simply watch the enemy take ground, White began firing his Bren at the Puma. The driver seemed to take notice, and the vehicle suddenly stopped and swiveled its turret at the house.

"GET DOWN!" Price screamed as the Puma fired its auto cannon at the small building.

The large shells penetrated the walls of the building, leaving holes the size of tea-cup saucers. Lovell fell to the ground and held his dome helmet on his head as the shells struck the building and plaster dust fell all around him. The barrage lasted only a few seconds, and when the dust began to clear, Lovell looked up. He gasped as he caught sight of a severed arm lying on the floor a few inches from where he was laying.

Looking up, Charlie was met by an even more horrifying sight. White sat against the far wall, clutching the bloody stump where his arm had been. Blood was pooling around him, and had splashed all over his uniform and face. He was letting out short gasps and moans as he clutched at what was left of his lim.

"Jesus Christ, George!" Lovell shouted as he jumped up and ran over to his mortally wounded friend.

"Get a medic" Sergeant Price ordered one of the other privates, who nodded and ran outside.

"George, George, look at me, you're gonna be alright, you 'ere me? You're gonna be alright" Charlie sat in front of the bleeding White, trying to console him.

"Tell me boy…" White struggled to get his words out, "tell me boy…tell 'im I said…'appy birthday" he wheezed.

"I'm not gonna do that, mate; cause you're gonna do it. We gonna get you patched up, you'll be alright" Lovell repeated this last line over and over again, as tears began to fall from his eyes.

"Tell me wife I….I…." George struggled to continue, but after a few more seconds of labored breathing, he went still.

"George?" Lovell called his friends name softly, but got no reply. "George!" he called again, louder this time, and shaking White's body slightly.

Suddenly, there was a loud explosion outside. Shortly afterward, the private that Price had sent to fetch a medic returned, but with no doctor in tow.

"What the bloody hell's going on out there?" the sergeant demanded.

"Sir, one of the lads over on the bridge managed to destroy the Puma, and it looks like the rest of the Gerrys are surrendering" the private explained hastily, "but I wasn't able to find a medic".

Price glanced back at the motionless form of White, and let out a deep sigh. "I don't think a medic's services are required anymore" he said quietly.

Lovell looked up at his sergeant, who gave him a sympathetic look before heading outside. The young private then looked back at the corpse of his best friend, and began to cry silently. There were some things you could never ask your friends. What was it like to kiss your pregnant wife goodbye? What was it like, missing your son's first two birthdays?

What if you die before the third?

* * *

_December 19, 1944. Noville, Belgium. _

There was a loud bang as the grenade that had been thrown up the stairs went off. Guzzo crouched behind the chair he had dived behind just before the device had released its deadly payload of shrapnel. Once things had calmed, the sergeant glanced out from behind his cover, and caught sight of the M1919. It had been miraculously undamaged by the explosion, perhaps because it was sitting on the ground. Either way, Guzzo went to go for the heavy MG, when a German appeared at the top of the stairs. He caught sight of the American, and raised his MP40 to fire.

Instead however, Laughlin leapt out from behind his cover and opened up with his grease gun. While his bullets did strike the Wehrmacht soldier, it was not enough to kill him. The dying man desperately sung his gun to the left, spraying bullets as he did. One of these bullets struck Laughlin, and Guzzo saw a red cloud of blood explode from the private's neck. Laughlin clutched the spot and fell backward against the wall of the attic, and the German crumpled to the ground dead as well. Still, just to be sure, Guzzo ran over to the downed enemy and grabbed up his MP40 before firing several rounds into the German's back.

Once he was assured that the man was dead, Guzzo ran over to Laughlin who was trying his best to put pressure on the wound in his neck. He tried to speak, but only some faint groans and a gurgling noise issued form his mouth. Seeing nothing more he could do for the dying man, the sergeant put a hand on Laughlin's shoulder and squeezed it slightly. The private continued to stare at him, and Guzzo watched as a single tear fell from the young man's eye. Then, life left Frank Laughlin's eyes, and Guzzo pushed his eyelids closed with one hand.

Salvador was so busy attending his fallen comrade, the he failed to hear the sounds of footsteps coming up the stairs. Only after he had closed Laughlin's eyes, and heard the sound of a gun being engaged behind him, did he turn to see a German standing behind him with an STG44 aimed right at the sergeant. At that moment, there came a shout from downstairs followed by gunshots. The German in the attic turned to look down the steps, and was struck by no less than four shots, all of which hit his torso area. He fell dead, and Nichols appeared at the top of the steps, a smoking Carbine in hand.

"Where the hell have you been?" Guzzo greeted his friend, before turning to look back at the dead Laughlin.

"Catching up on some beauty sleep" Nichols retorted as he too approached the corpse of their former brother in arms.

"He's gone, c'mon, we better get back outside" Guzzo stood and left the body, heading downstairs. Nichols followed.

They were back outside on the snowy street shortly, and both could still here the battle raging on the east side of town. The two G.I.s were about to head back toward the front, when they heard a yell from a nearby building.

"They got a tank coming around the flank! Look out!" the warning had come from a private who was waving from the window of a building next to the one they had just exited.

The window was suddenly engulfed in an explosion, and a short moment later a Tiger I tank rolled through the narrow space and onto the narrow street. The massive behemoth was quite an intimidating sight to any infantry man, and Nichols had had experience with the killer machine in France.

"Take cover!" was all Guzzo managed to get out before the MG in the hull of the Tiger opened fire on the two Americans.

Bullets peppered the snowy ground around him as Nichols ran for a small wall that stretched out from a building across the street. He and Guzzo crouched behind the stone structure as bullets continued to hit the top of it. There was a great boom, and part of the wall only inches from where Guzzo crouched was blown away.

"Goddamn it, I'm sick of being shot at!" the sergeant cried in frustration.

The MG had stopped firing, and even though several infantry men hidden in the building of Noville were firing on the iron monster, the tank concentrated on one target: Guzzo and Nichol's hiding spot. Nichols glanced over the wall and saw the Tiger's turret swivel a little in correction. It was now aiming right at where he hid.

"I have an idea, keep him busy" Nichols shouted to Guzzo before making his way cautiously along the wall to the right.

"Fuck! He's gonna get himself killed if he keeps trying to act the hero" Guzzo thought angrily, but he nonetheless fired several shots at the tank with his captured MP40.

While Guzzo was distracting the Tiger, Nichols slowly made his way down the wall's length and, trusting his sergeant's fire to distract the tank, broke cover and ran for a large concrete looking structure that was apparently used for growing purposes in better weather. This cover gave Nichols the angle he needed, and he aimed with his Carbine at the one spot that Sergeant Dixon had told him was a Tiger's weakness: the small, red cap on the fuel tank at the rear of the tank.

It was like trying to shoot a dime from across a courtyard, but by some miracle, Nichols fired his Carbine and, as if in slow motion, could practically see his bullet as it flew across the space between him and the enemy and struck the cap.

The back of the Tiger I was engulfed in an explosion of such magnitude, that Nichols ducked back behind his cover in fear of his life. After several minutes, he looked back over the top at the burning wreckage. At that moment, an M18 appeared around a corner.

"Were the hell was that when we needed it?" Jack thought to himself as he stepped out into the street to greet the approaching vehicle.

Guzzo came out as well, and they both stood by the flaming Tiger as the M18 pulled up beside it, and the hatch on top opened. Lieutenant Foyer pooped up through the open hatch, gaping in shock at the destroyed tank.

"Who the heck did that?" he gasped, half a demand, half a question.

"Corporal Nichols here, sir" Guzzo gestured to Jack who stood next to him.

"With just a rifle?"

"Yes sir"

"Well I'll be damned. I'm putting you in for a medal or something, son" Foyer nodded to Nichols as a sergeant approached.

"Sir, the enemy's in retreat" the man reported.

"Good, tell the men to pull back the wounded and straighten out the line. They'll be back, no doubt about it" the lieutenant issued his orders to the sergeant before looking back at Nichols.

"I don't know it can be official or not, but as far as I'm concerned, corporal, I will refer to you as 'sergeant' from now on" he continued.

"Thank you, sir" Jack nodded to his new CO, who then reentered his M18, and the vehicle drove off down the road.

"Well, look at you Jack, hell I'm gonna have to start calling you by your first name" Guzzo observed with a grin.

"Let's just stick with Nichols" the newly promoted sergeant replied with a grin of his own, but it quickly faded when he noticed a jeep with several wounded drive by.

"C'mon, we better help them with this mess" he suggested.

"Right, first things first though" Guzzo sated, before walking back toward the building that Nichols had rescued him in.

"Where are you going?" Sergeant Nicholson called.

"To get Laughlin's dog tags" the latter replied simply, before heading inside the building.

Nichols looked up at the overcast sky above him for a moment, and then headed toward what he assumed was the front line. As he did so, his thoughts traveled back to the dream he had had while unconscious and this brought back other memories.

* * *

_January 24, 1944. Philadelphia, U.S.A. _

_It was a chilly evening, and it was snowing a little, when Jack arrived at the bus depot. He had his ticket to take a bus to Fort Benning to train for combat duty. His mother and father had both come down with him to the station. Now, as they stood outside the bus station, an awkward, almost mournful silence descended upon them as Jack stared at his parents and them at him. _

"_Tell Robert that he's not the only one seeing interesting places now" Jack suggested, trying to lighten the mood. _

_His mother let out a small sob, and leaned her head against her husband's shoulder, crying. Jack's father gave him a nod as he placed one arm around his wife._

"_I'll…uhhh…I'll write when I can. I promise" the newly inducted man continued, hoping it wouldn't send his mother into another fit of sibs, God knows she had gone into many after he told her that he was obeying his draft notice. _

_There was a call for all aboard the bus to Fort Benning, and Jack looked back at his parents one last time. His mother suddenly released her husband and embraced her son tightly. _

"_I love you. Come home safe" she said between chokes. Then, Mrs. Nicholson released him and began walking down the street away from the bus station, sobbing occasionally._

_Jack looked at his father. "Any advice?" he asked (his father was a veteran of The Great War). _

"_There's nothing I can say to you that will bring you comfort in the darkest of the hours you will face" the elder man replied with a sigh, "use the memories of your family. They'll keep you alive". _

_And with that, Mr. Nicholson turned to follow his wife. After watching his parents retreat down the street for a few seconds, Jack 'Nichols' Nicholson picked up his bag that he had packed and headed to his bus. _

_And to the war ahead. _

* * *

_Hello folks. I'm sorry if these last two chapter have not been as combatitive, but I wanted to add some background story to Nichols (and frankly I found them both a pleasure to write. I like deep stuff). Anyway, if you did tear up a little, no problem, that's the purpose of some of this suff ;). Happy reading and please review. Cheers. _


	13. Chapter 12

"_War changes people." _–William McCall

Chapter 12

Turning point

_September 18, 1944. Arnhem, Holland._

The remaining SAS men of the assault group led by Ingram were marching down a road leading toward the crossroads inside the city of Arnhem itself that would link to the bridge. Paratroopers of the 1st Battalion had already gone ahead and were carving their way through the city's defenses. The SAS's actions the previous night had been crucial in breaking down the defensive line, leading to the Germans to pull back inside the town, but now, Major Ingram was worried. He had not heard any word from the 100 men he had sent to go around the line's left flank.

On top of that, almost half of the 1st Battalion had fallen behind on the way to Arnhem, and had not been heard from since. With these losses, Ingram estimated their strength at about 120 men, not even half of their original strength (and that was when he combined his remaining SAS men with the 1st Battalions remaining men). Despite this, Urquhart had ordered that the town center be secured by dark, and it was already evening. What made this whole thing seem so dangerous to the SAS major was the fact that the Battalion had been experiencing radio trouble, so there was no way to contact 2nd Battalion.

"We don't even know if they have secured the bridge, and God knows where 3rd Battalion is" Gerald turned his anxieties over in his mind again and again as he led his remaining men toward the town center.

As the group made its way down the narrow street as cautiously as they could (for German snipers were a constant threat, hiding in what was presumed to be cleared buildings) Keith, Doyle, and Starkey stood together as they always did, the tight nit group of the bunch. Well, mostly tight nit. Keith and Ingram's relations had been on the slide since the incident in the wine cellar the previous night. The Scotsman took his orders from the major rather rigidly, and without the peppiness he used to. All three men: Ingram, Doyle, and Starkey had noticed this.

In an effort to repair the standing between Major Ingram and Sergeant Keith, Doyle had taken to putting more and more pressure on his Scottish companion at patching things up with their CO. Keith, being the stubborn pack mule that he was, refused. So now, the situation between Duncan and James was becoming strained as well. The anxiousness and stress built up by the task at hand did not help matters either.

Now, as the SAS men made their way through town, Doyle made another stab at repairing things between Keith and Ingram.

"We need to talk, mate" he whispered to Keith who was marching next to him.

"I know what you're gonna try to talk to me about, and I'm saying sod you" Duncan hissed back.

"C'mon, Duncan, he's just doing what he thinks is right for this regiment, and you" Doyle persisted.

"LOOK, I DON'T NEED YOUR ADVICE DR. FREUD! NOW, PISS OFF!" Keith's screamed at Doyle, his anger finally boiling over.

In a swift motion, Starkey grabbed Keith by the shoulder, spun him around, and delivered a solid punch to the Scotsman's jaw. It was a full on brawl in minutes. The other members of the squad moved out of the way as Starkey and Keith battled each other viciously on the street. Major Ingram was making his way to the disturbance immediately.

"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS THIS! STAND DOWN NOW!" the CO shouted at the top of his voice.

Starkey obeyed the command and attempted to back off, but Keith wasn't done yet. He continued to throw punches at the Lieutenant, although Robert managed to dodge them. At last, Ingram got between the two, his face right in front of Keith's.

"STAND DOWN, DUNCAN!" he screamed, but Keith continued to struggle to get past the major and continue his fight with Starkey.

"I SAID STAND DOWN, _CORPORAL_!"

These words got the aggressor's attention. The sudden demotion shocked him so, that Keith merely stood staring at Ingram in disbelief.

"He…he threw the first punch, sir" Duncan pointed out angrily.

"I don't give a damn who landed the first blow! We are in the middle of a war. Save it for the bloody Gerrys" the major was outright furious; Doyle had never seen him in such a rage.

Ingram, after staring Keith down, turned to Starkey with an equally contemptuous look.

"I would expect better from an officer. I will be submitting a censure against you Lieutenant Starkey, do you understand?" he continued.

Bob nodded solemnly while avoiding Ingram's gaze. It was something fierce, Gerald's look of disapproval. It was the sort of evil eye that you could not look back into; even if you wanted to. After several more seconds of silent glaring, Major Ingram strode back to his original position ahead of the group, and the men continued their march as usual. Well, almost as usual.

While and Doyle and Starkey continued to walk together, Keith hung back until he was several feet behind the group, then continued walking as well. It was tense between all of them, well, except between Ingram and Doyle. As the SAS regiment moved deeper into Arnhem, the sounds of gunfire and explosions began to fill the air. The battle for Arnhem was drawing closer.

Eventually, the group halted in a courtyard. The sounds of battle resonated from only feet away. Doyle looked around at the group of his comrades, which had shrunk considerably since their arrival. James estimated that only about 62 of the original 200 SAS commandos remained. Of course, 100 of them had disappeared the previous night.

As he was dwelling on these thoughts, and noting the thinning of men in the group, a loud shot suddenly caused Doyle to hit the ground. The head of a nearby private exploded in a cloud of blood, and the body crumpled to the unforgiving stone road.

"SNIPER!" the warning sounded throughout the courtyard, and men began to dive for cover.

Doyle looked up from where he lay. Starkey ran over and lifted him to his feet before the two soldiers ran toward a gazebo nearby to take cover behind it. There were several more shots from the building on the far side of the courtyard, and based on the number of shots in such rapid succession, Doyle supposed that there had to be more than one sniper.

"It's an ambush" the lieutenant observed.

"Aye and we walked right into it" Starkey agreed.

Ingram suddenly appeared next to them. "They have us pinned. There are four of them in all, two in either house" Ingram explained, gesturing toward the buildings, "we'll keep them suppressed while you and some others clear the houses. Once that's done, use the buildings to flank the enemy line down the road. That's where 1st Battalion is".

Doyle nodded to his CO, then to Starkey. As they made their way around the gazebo, Doyle called to several other men who were hiding.

"Bishop, Astor, Thomas, follow me!" he ordered the three privates, who immediately got behind him and Starkey.

As soon as his team was assembled, Doyle gave Ingram a nod, and the major called to his men: "suppressing fire on the buildings there and there, now!"

A hail of fire from a mixture of Stens and Lee-Enfields, and even a Bren the company was toting along, began to pepper the windows of the two buildings. While this was going on, Doyle motioned for Astor and Thomas to breach the door to the first building. They did so, opening it slightly and tossing a grenade inside. Following the explosion, the five men made their way inside.

The entry room was empty, aside from the singed furniture form the grenade blast, and so the group headed upstairs. Here it was a different matter. Doyle stepped through the upstairs doorway, and was instantly greeted by pistol shots. One of the snipers had pulled a Walther P38, and was firing at him. Doyle blind fired around the corner of the doorway with his Sten.

He was not sure if he hit anything, but Starkey threw a grenade into the room, and the screams that followed the detonation assured him that the room was clear. Doyle and his friend headed inside the room to make sure it was clean and, upon inspecting the bodies of the snipers, Doyle found a scoped Gewehr 43.

"Might come in handy" he mumbled as he took the rifle from the dead German.

"Right, lads, next house, 'urry up!" Starkey was already shouting to the other men.

The way that most of the buildings in Arnhem were designed, most buildings were interconnected, so a door on the bottom floor led into the house next door. Running low on grenades, the squad decided to save them for the top floor, choosing instead to break down the door and enter with guns at the ready. The ground floor was clear, as it had been in the first one. However, this time one of the snipers was waiting at the top of the stairs. The German was armed with a Gewehr, and began to fire down at the group as soon as they appeared.

"Back up, back up!" Doyle had ordered his men, and they all took cover behind the furniture in the living room.

With the enemy holding the top of the steps, Doyle attempted a new strategy. The build of the stairwell made throwing a grenade impossible. Noting that when he had seen the German, the soldier had been standing on one of the steps, Doyle took aim and, hoping it was the right step, fired. His bullets hit the step, causing it to explode in saw dust. The action surprised the German up top, and the man attempted to leap back, only to lose his balance and fall forward down the stairs.

As soon as the Wehrmacht sniper hit the floor at the bottom of the steps, he was layered with fired by all five British commandos. He was dead in moments. When this act was done, the five men hurried upstairs to silence the other sniper. The entrance to the second floor was wide open, and three of the five soldiers entered cautiously. Nonetheless, upon entry, they found the room to be deserted.

"What the hell, there should have been four of them" Doyle muttered as he surveyed the abandoned roost.

There was a yell of rage, and a green camouflaged German burst from a closet. In an instant, he kicked the Sten from Doyle's hand and wrapped one arm around the British Lieutenant's neck while pulling a P38 with the other. He then began screaming at the reaming Englishmen while holding his gun to Doyle's head.

James stayed fairly calm, considering he had a loaded pistol to his head. As he captor continued to scream at his backup in German, he suddenly slammed his elbow into the man's stomach, causing him to wince, and allowing Doyle to escape his grasp. In moments, Doyle and his German attacker were wrestling over the Walther P38. The others feared hitting their CO if they fired, so they held off and watched helplessly as Doyle fought for the pistol.

Eventually, he managed to gain the upper hand, and began forcing the pistol barrel toward the Nazi's head. The German let out a last cry of frustration, and Doyle looked into the man's eyes. He saw a mixture of fear and desperation, but also, somewhere deep within that icy gaze, a plea for mercy. Doyle pulled the trigger, and felt the warm blood splash onto his face, and allowed the lifeless body to fall to the floor. Doyle then turned to face his men, and even Starkey couldn't help but gasp slightly. The SAS man's face had a streak of red blood running up it on the one side, and even his uniform was coated in the red liquid.

Ignoring his less than picturesque look, Doyle handed the blood stained Walther to Starkey before picking up his Sten and heading toward the door.

"C'mon, they're waiting on us" the lieutenant reminded them.

Bishop and Astor exchanged nervous glances, and then followed him, along with the others. James led his men through the house to a back street just outside. They then made their way toward the sounds of gunfire and shouting. What they found was a massacre. The Germans had set up a line of sand bags across the narrow street. There was a large hole between the two sandbag walls however, and filling the hole was a halftrack.

Paratroopers were attempting to move up the road toward this road block, but were pinned down by heavy fire from both men taking cover behind the sandbags and a MG-42 set up on the halftrack. Those who didn't stay in cover, were cut to pieces almost instantaneously it seemed. Bodies lined either side of the street. Doyle caught sight of Ingram and several other members of the SAS taking cover down in the street as well, and he snapped out of the momentary shock at the bloody scene.

Realizing that their position inside the building gave them a unique advantage, Doyle maneuvered his men so that they were positioned in the windows just above the German defensive line. It was the perfect hard point, the hiding Gerrys below were completely exposed! Taking the scoped Gewehr that he had retrieved off of his back and aiming down onto the enemy below, Doyle gave the fire signal to his team, and the five men began pouring a hailstorm of fire onto the line.

Aiming through the scope of his rifle, Doyle went straight for the halftrack's machinegun operator. His aim was cold and steady and he pulled the trigger lightly, causing the head of the MG man to come apart. Meanwhile, Starkey was lobbing grenades down onto the line, and soon the Germans were in full retreat in the face of such death and destruction.

Seeing this, Ingram gave a shout for his men to advance, and before long, the entire SAS as well as the 1st Battalion were moving up on the former German line. As they approached the sandbags, the British soldiers began firing on their retreating enemy. Major Ingram stood up on top of one of the sandbag walls, his revolver drawn, gesturing the men forward.

"Forward men, drive them back to Berlin!" he shouting above the din.

Doyle looked over at Gerald and saw Keith positioned right next to him, firing after the enemy as well. The sight lifted Doyle's spirits. Perhaps they would patch things up after all.

All of that changed in a moment. There was a red cloud that burst from Ingram's torso, and he hunched over in pain, before falling off the sandbags to the ground. to Doyle, it all seemed to happen in slow motion.

"He's hit, the major's hit!" he shrieked as he tore past Starkey and the others toward the stairs. In moments, he was outside on the street and at Ingram's side.

"Major" James whispered as he lifted Ingram up slightly. A bullet had stuck him right in the chest.

"Bad news boys, I forgot to duck" Ingram wheezed out.

"Gerald, you'll be alright, you hear me. You've 'ad worse than this" tears were falling down Doyle's face.

"You have to lead them. They trust you, and you're the best man for the job. Lead them…lead…" Ingram struggled to breath for a few seconds, and then went silent.

"Gerald? GERALD!" Doyle shook his CO desperately, until Keith put a hand on his shoulder.

"He's gone Doyle. There's nothing you can do" the Scot whispered.

"Like you give damn!" James screamed back furiously as he continued to violently shake the body of Major Gerald Ingram.

"C'mon you old bastard, you're tougher than this, C'MON!" but by now even Doyle was beginning to realize it was in vain.

He went quiet and stared at the face of the man who had been like a father to him. Keith stayed silent as well, seeing that there was nothing he could do to give the grieved lieutenant any solace. All that could be heard was the triumphant yells of the paratroopers as they overtook the German position, claiming their victory.

But for Doyle, the victory was, and always would be, a hollow one.

* * *

_Hello folks. Couple of messages for you. First, I've noticed a few people asking what game CoD 3 was. CoD 3 was CoD 3. It was made back before CoD games had names. Second, for some of you who may be thinking that the use of grenades is getting redundant, in real war, that is the thing you use to clear a room, you don't charge in there with guns blazing. Anyway, hope you enjoyed the chapter and please **review. **Cheers._


	14. Chapter 13

"_For the sake of all that we ourselves hold dear, it is unthinkable that we should refuse to meet the challenge" _–King George VI, in his first war-time address in 1939.

Chapter 13

The lion's jaws

_December 20, 1944. Near Foy, Belgium. _

The night of December 19th, the defenders of Noville had waited anxiously for a counterattack. However, for Nichols and Guzzo, it was one of their first restful nights in the last two days. The expected attack never came, but the massing of the Germans just outside the city was clear. Recon reported the enemy moving around Noville's right flank at a wide swing and, deciding that the city was about to be surrounded, lieutenant Foyer had requested to pull back. This request was granted, and the battalion was ordered to retreat to Bastogne that morning of the 20th.

Now, the men had set out early that morning down the southbound road leading toward Foy, a small village en route to Bastogne. Foyer had gotten assurances that the village was still held by American forces, and since the Germans had spread out and blocked almost every other route into Bastogne, it was the battalion's last hope to escape the closing jaws of the lion.

"Recon reports that the enemy is spread out all over the area around Bastogne. 101st Airborne's been trying to set up a defensive perimeter" Foyer was discussing the situation with the newly promoted Sergeant Nichols who, along with Guzzo, was riding on the M18 that Foyer was traveling in.

"Do we know the full scale of this thing?" Guzzo inquired.

"Division HQ says that the Krauts counterattacked all over the Ardennes Forest area. They got fighting that extends from here, all the way up to St. Vith" the lieutenant replied darkly.

"Jesus Christ" Guzzo muttered at the scale of the offensive.

"Do they know what the German objective is?" Nichols continued the inquiry where his friend had left off.

"Based on the German's movements and what little intel we got, they're assuming it's Antwerp" the latter explained.

"So what's so important about Bastogne?"

"Well, aside from being the location of the divisionary HQ for the entire southern sector of the Ardennes, it also is chokepoint for the roadway. There are a lot of major roads that converge there. Command's convinced that control of this crossroad is crucial".

The convoy of trucks and M18s were approaching Foy as the three men were wrapping up their conversation. A flurry was falling, and the snow almost obscured the tiny settlement from view. To Nichols, it looked like a ghostly, grey shape in a world of white. With nothing else to look at, Nichols turned back to Guzzo.

"You think Huxley made it out?"

"I don't know. Guess we'll find out when we get to Bastogne" was the only answer Salvador could give.

The continued on the rest of the way silence. The convoy followed the road to the village, but as soon as it had passed through the first patch of buildings and into the town itself, Nichols felt himself growing nervous. Something just didn't seem right.

"Shouldn't there be a squad here to greet us?" he pointed out to Foyer.

"Maybe they got tied up someplace else. The Gerrys are all over the area, maybe they're attackin the line someplace el..." the lieutenant never got the whole sentence out.

The M18 at the head of the column was suddenly stuck by a rocket that hurtled through the air from a building a few feet down from the AT vehicle. It went up in an explosion immediately, forcing the rest of the convoy to halt on the narrow street. What happened next could only be described as an ambusher's dream, if you were on the ambushing side that is.

Panzershreck rockets filled the air, and before long, most of the trucks, and all but two of the M18s were reduced to flaming wreckage. Fortunately for Nichols and Guzzo, one of the two M18s that survived the attack was the one on which they now sat.

"Turn down that street there; we have to get off this road!" Guzzo shouted down the hatch to the driver and pointing toward a street that branched off the main one off to the left.

Foyer saw this gesture, and passed it along to the driver, who swiftly followed. Bullets were already flying as Germans hiding in the buildings fired upon any surviving Americans. Any trucks remaining went down side streets of their own, and one truck even followed the Foyer's M18 down the street it had chosen. The battalion had literally scattered like cockroaches.

The road on which Nichols and Guzzo now traveled on was, for the most part; quiet, though Nichols doubted it would stay that way. They could still here the sounds of gunfire, and the occasional explosion. What was left of battalion seemed to be battling their way out of their own messes.

"Any surviving units, make for Bastogne in whatever way you can" Foyer had called into the M18s radio before popping back up the hatch and turning to Nichols, "we have to protect this M18 at all costs. I need you and several other men to escort us" he continued.

Nichols only nodded before leaping off the M18 and gesturing for the truck behind them to stop. Guzzo got off with him, and they both headed to the back of the truck. There were at least six men in the back of the transport, and Guzzo commanded them all to get out.

"Alright, we're gonna make our way up this road! Keep your eyes peeled for Panzershreck positions! If we start taking fire, you must defend the M18 at all costs! Now move!" Nichols issued his first orders as a sergeant like a pro, and even Guzzo was impressed with the calm, but firm demeanor of his friend.

The men disembarked the truck, which continued to drive on behind the M18 once everyone had been unloaded. The snow fall had slowed some, allowing the men's line of sight to increase slightly. The G.I.s, eight including Nichols and Guzzo, split into two groups of four and made their way up the street, one group on either side.

The two vehicles they were escorting followed cautiously behind.

* * *

_September 19, 1944. Arnhem Bridge, Holland. _

Private Lovell sat staring out the window at the bridge in a sort of euphoric state. He had been this way since White's death. Sergeant Price noticed him, and went over to sit next to Lovell.

"How you holding up lad?" he inquired.

"He would 'ave had been 'ome in time to see his son for Christmas" Lovell muttered, "That's what they said: that when we won this bit, we would be 'ome in time for Christmas. But he isn't going to. 'Is son will never 'ave a Christmas with 'im. Never"

Price let out a sigh. "No sacrifice, no victory. White knew that" he said simply.

"I know that sir, but…but".

"Look lad, what happened to White was no one's fault; especially not yours. You can't on it, it will just eat you up from the inside" Price offered the young the best advice he could as a veteran of war.

Charlie gave a sigh of his own, before glancing back out the window. Seeing this, his sergeant decided that something to preoccupy the young private was in order.

"Listen" he said, "Frost wants all hard points to report casualties to him. I want you to go to the Command Post and tell him we've had three casualties".

"And that one of them is my friend" Lovell reminded Price.

"Just do as you're told, soldier".

Without another word, Charlie stood up and made his way over to the entrance to the small building that he had spent the last two days holing up in. The crossroads that was right at the ramp of the bridge was firmly in British hands so, for the most part, Lovell simply strode across it to the section of buildings that were under Airborne control on the southern tip of Arnhem. In the largest of these buildings was Lieutenant-Colonel Frost's HQ.

The inside of the HQ was crawling with officer, most of which were gathered around a small table that had been set up in the center of the main room. There was a radio that had been set up in the corner of the room and an operator was attempting to send a message, although, from the sounds of things, he wasn't having much luck.

"Sir, we can't get anyone on the radio" Major Gough was telling Frost as Lovell approached.

"What do you mean we can't reach anybody? What about 2nd and 3rd Battalion?" the CO was demanding.

"We can't get a hold of anyone, sir".

"What is it, private?" Frost's attention had suddenly turned to Lovell, who was standing across the table from him.

"Oh, Sergeant Price reports four casualties for Roland Company" Charlie spoke up.

"Very well, return to your unit".

"Yes sir" Lovell saluted his CO before turning and walking toward the exit of the building. However, he moved slowly so that he could hear the conversation between Frost and Major Gough.

"Do we know the locations of 1st and 2nd Battalion?" Frost was inquiring.

"No sir, we haven't been able to get _anyone _on the radio" was the major's solemn reply.

"Well why the bloody hell not!" Frost's temper was rising.

"The radio operator seems to think they're out of range, sir".

"So we can communicate with no one?"

"It seems so, sir".

"Damn it! The Gerrys have been hitting the perimeter with artillery all day, and now Albert Company is reporting armor hitting their positions. We don't have many anti-tank weapons left! If we don't get some reinforcements soon, we may not be able to hold the bridge!" Frost's rant caused many in the room to go silent.

It was an ominous air.

Having heard enough, Lovell made his way more quickly to the front door, and opened it. The private had taken one step outside, when he heard a faint whistling noise. There was an explosion as an artillery shell landed a few feet in front of Lovell. While not close enough to severely injure him, the explosion sent him flying back into the building.

A loud ringing filled Lovell's ears, and at first he lay on the floor clutching his head in pain. He was hardly aware of the sudden activity around him, and the muffled sounds of more explosions very close by. Charlie became aware of a sharp pain on the left side of his forehead, and he brought a hand up to feel the spot. There was a large cut, caused no doubt by a piece of shrapnel, which was oozing blood. It did not seem bad however and, after a few more seconds of shock, Lovell got shakily to his feet.

Men were running here and there, shouting in loud voices. Glancing out the window, Lovell saw that shells were landing all around the building in which he now stood.

"They're targeting this building! Everybody evacuate now!" one soldier shouted.

Charlie looked back out the open door and could see the road outside being pummeled with shells. No, he would rather take his chances inside the building than out there. The other occupants seemed to feel the same way as none of them actually tried to leave. Suddenly, there was a very loud 'boom' and the building itself shook violently; a direct hit.

This hit was followed by another, and then another. The small, two story structure was taking a beating. Plaster dust and chunks rained down from the ceiling, and Lovell feared that at any moment it might collapse. His fears proved to be justified. There was another direct hit, which was followed by a sound that seemed to be a mixture between a rock slide and a branch being snapped in half.

A section of the ceiling caved in with several men standing beneath it. There was a cry of alarm, and Major Gough's voice could be heard.

"Lieutenant-Colonel Frost is trapped under 'ere. Someone help!"

Lovell, who was close to the collapse site, moved over and began shifting chunks of plaster and wooden beams off of the men they had fallen upon. Finally, he came upon Frost's lifeless body and pulled it out from underneath the rubble.

"He's 'ere! I've got 'im" Charlie shouted as he pulled his CO to safety.

"Get out of the way!" Gough pushed past Lovell and, along with a medic, kneeled over Frost to check his body for signs of life.

"He's alive, banged up bad, but alive. C'mon, we best move him" the medic suggested, and he and Gough lifted Frost carefully and moved him over to one of the tables. The artillery barrage ceased shortly afterward.

Lovell, seeing that he was no longer needed for the most part, exited the building and ran as fast as he could back to his post. He was not sure if Frost was going to make it or not, but one thing was for certain:

If the Lieutenant-Colonel didn't make it, there would be hell to pay.

* * *

_December 20, 1944. Foy, Belgium. _

Nichols walked slowly down the snow covered road until he reached a point where the street turned off to the right. He hid behind the corner of a building, and glanced around it at the, surprisingly, deserted stretch of road. Where were the Germans? They were definitely still in the town; the group of men could hear the sounds of sporadic fighting all around.

"Something isn't right. They know we're here, why aren't they hitting us?' Jack whispered to Guzzo.

"Maybe they got some sort of hard point up ahead, and they're just waiting for us to walk into it" the latter suggested.

"That's what I'm afraid of".

"Well, they're not gonna spring it until we're right where they want us, so we might as well keep going" Guzzo continued with a shrug.

"You want us to walk right into an ambush?" Nichols asked incredulously.

Guzzo simply nodded. After few seconds of thought, Jack realized that his compatriot was right, so he looked back down the way they had just come.

The M18 and truck that Nichols and the others were escorting made their way to the turn and, at a nod from Nichols, followed it around the building. The miniature convoy continued up the new road a short distance before coming to a point where part of it swerved off into a small, courtyard-like off shoot that was created by a horseshoe shaped building. It was prime ambush point, and Nichols knew it.

"Gerry's gonna hit us right here" he relayed the observation to Guzzo, who nodded in agreement.

Jack raised a hand, signaling for the vehicles to stop and they did so.

"So what's our next move?" he asked, turning to Salvador.

"The way that building's set up, they'll have us bracketed for at least 25-30 feet. There's no way we'll get by with both our vehicles" Guzzo pointed out darkly.

"So why not pass by?"

The suggestion caused Guzzo to look at Nichols in shock. "What?"

"M18 is supposed to be the tread vehicle built, right? Why don't we just speed by this point here and make a break for the open countryside? We can't be that far from the end of town, this village isn't that big" Nichols explained his reasoning.

After mulling it over in his brain, Guzzo decided that this approach would give them a higher chance of survival then trying to clear out the building or move by it cautiously.

"Alright, tell the guys to get back in the truck" he consented.

Nichols relayed the order and the six men that had been accompanying them returned to the truck, while Nichols and Guzzo took up their positions on top of the M18. After a brief moment of hesitation, Guzzo shouted to the drivers: "full speed ahead!"

The M18's reputation for speed was well earned, and even a bit understated apparently, as the armored AT machine shot forward at a break neck speed, the truck right behind it. As Nichols had predicted, as soon as they entered the building's line of sight, Panzershreck fire erupted from almost every open window. The rockets streaked down and collided in fiery explosions on the road behind them.

"Whatever you do, don't stop!" Guzzo screamed over the blasts and gunfire that was now issuing from the building.

The two vehicles sped down the snowy road (which made the speed they were traveling at all the more dangerous) as sporadic gunfire and Panzershreck came from buildings every now and again. It was all a blur to Nichols, who felt the cold wind from the speed they were going biting at his cheeks and nose.

A turn suddenly came into view, and the driver literally slid into the turn a little in order to make it, nearly causing Guzzo to going flying off the top. The sergeant was gripping one of the handles on the top of the AT vehicle so hard, that his knuckles were almost as white as the snow.

"We're almost there!" Nichols pointed out.

It was true. Guzzo could see that the road they were now on headed straight out into the open countryside of Belgium. Bastogne was only a few miles beyond.

"We're almost there!" he shouted above the din, for the level of gunfire and Panzershreck rockets had increased dramatically as they neared the edge of town.

"Almost…" Guzzo repeated through clenched teeth.

The end of the village was literally only feet away, when it happened…

* * *

_To be continued, du du duuuuh! Sorry, couldn't resist :). It's like some exciting TV series isn't it? Anyway, hope your having a good summer and please take the time to **review** if you have any comments or concerns. Cheers. _


	15. Chapter 14

"_In war, there are no unwounded soldiers"_ –Jose Narosky

Chapter 14

Unwounded soldiers

_September 19, 1944. Arnhem, Holland._

Doyle felt numb. Everything seemed to be in a sort of dreamlike state. To be honest, he was strongly wishing that the last few hours had all been a nightmare. But they weren't. Ingram's body had been taken away and the SAS, as well as the 1st Battalion, had dug in for the night. Word was that they were going to attempt to reach the bridge tomorrow. Unable to sleep, Doyle had sat staring in the direction of their target (though the buildings made it impossible to see).

At some point, he wasn't sure since he wasn't exactly keeping track of time; a sergeant had approached him and quietly informed the lieutenant that General Urquhart wished to speak to him. Doyle stood up, still in a dreamlike daze, and followed his retriever to the butcher shop a few blocks back from the courtyard the men were dug into, where Urquhart had made his HQ.

Despite being the headquarters for the entire 1st Parachute Brigade, the building was not that full. There were a few key officers and General Urquhart himself who were all standing around a map that had been laid out on a table. Upon his arriving, Urquhart looked up at the young SAS man, and was silent for a brief moment.

"You are Lieutenant James Doyle then?" the general inquired.

"Aye, sir" Doyle replied in what was almost a whisper.

Urquhart stepped back from the table and walked around it until he was standing directly in front of Doyle. James stood as straight as he could, looking his superior in the eye (something that was rather uncharacteristic of a British soldier, but somehow it made Urquhart like the man even more).

"I understand that Major Gerald Ingram was killed" the general stated slowly.

"Aye, sir" was the only reply Doyle could give as he shifted his gaze to the floor.

"Which means that the SAS regiment is now without a commander".

"I suppose so, sir".

Urquhart looked at Doyle in silence for a few seconds, before speaking. "A man of few words, eh? You're going to have to break that habit I'm afraid, lad. The man who delivered us the news of Major Ingram's death, a Sergeant Keith, said that Ingram appointed you his successor before expiring".

These words shocked Doyle, who looked back up at Urquhart in surprise.

"And, having met you here and now, I am inclined to agree with the Major's last wishes. Unless of course, you have any objections." The general continued.

The latter was speechless. After several minutes of silence, which Urquhart appeared to take as consent, the general announced aloud: "very well then, you are promoted to Major, and will assume command of the SAS regiment here in Arnhem forthwith. Dismissed!"

Instinctively, Doyle saluted his CO, who then returned to the table. However, the newly promoted major remained frozen on the spot where he stood. Urquhart looked up at him in surprise.

"Is there something you wish to say, major?" he asked.

"N…no, sir" Doyle gave another salute and then left the building, still not quite believing what had just occurred.

"You're in charge now" a voice in his head reminded him, "you're in charge. They'll all be looking to you for leadership, and you must be ready to give it".

James swallowed anxiously. Was he ready to lead? Well, the answer to that was simple:

He had to be.

* * *

_December 20, 1944. Foy, Belgium. _

"_Get up you worthless piece of shit" _a voice shouted in Guzzo's mind as he lay on the snowy road, his ears ringing from the explosion that had sent the M18 flying forward, knocking both him and Nichols off the back.

The explosion had been caused by a Panzershreck rocket slamming into the truck behind them. Now, as Guzzo attempted to stand up, he stared at the flaming ball of twisted metal that had been the truck. His vision was a little wavy, and the ringing muffled the sounds of the gunshots that were landing all around him.

"_You dumb son-of-a-bitch get on the ground before they waste you" _the voice scolded him again, and the sergeant turned in its direction.

Guzzo let out a horrified gasp. Sergeant Frank McCullin stood before him in a classic army outfit, but with a helmet that had a distinctive dent in it and was holding a Thompson. At first, all Guzzo could do was staring at his former CO, who looked back at him with that same look of disgust and contempt that McCullin had looked at him with in France.

"_Get your ass off the road, Guzzo!" _McCullin shouted once again, and this time Guzzo became aware of the bullets that were flying all around him.

The sergeant glanced around wildly until he found Nichols laying on the ground nearby, also disorientated. With all the strength he could gather, Guzzo ran over to his friend and helped him to his feet. Then, half carrying, half dragging Nichols, he made his way into one of the houses that lined the road.

"Where's the M18?" Nichols moaned as Guzzo set him down once they were safely inside.

"I don't know. I guess they kept going. C'mon, we can't stay here, they'll be looking for us" Guzzo urged Jack on while attempting to lift him once again.

With the shock of what had just happened wearing off, Nichols managed to stand. He then glanced around, and an anxious look filled his eyes.

"Where's are weapons?" he whispered.

Guzzo realized that he had left his Thompson out in the street and, from the looks of things, Nichols had left his Carbine. With no other weapon available, Guzzo pulled his standard issue Colt pistol from its holster.

"Stay behind me" he ordered Jack before the two began making their way down the hallway toward what they hope would be a back door.

They encountered no resistance and, upon opening the door, found that it did indeed lead into a small, snow covered back street.

"Finally, something goes right today" Guzzo thought with relief, as he and Nichols stepped out into the street.

"_Oh c'mon, things are never that simple" _McCullin's voice sounded again and Guzzo whirled to see the deceased man staring at him from off to his left.

"What's the matter? You hear something?" Nichols asked, puzzled.

Guzzo did not reply, he only continued to stare at McCullin in quiet disbelief. Nichols looked over to where Guzzo was staring, but saw nothing.

"Sal, what's wrong?" he asked again, louder this time.

The latter shook his head before replying: "I'm fine, let's keep moving", before continuing down the street.

Nichols looked at his old friend with concern, but decided to shrug off the incident and continued to follow the armed sergeant. They walked several blocks, the sounds of sporadic fighting still echoing all around. As they were coming toward a section where the small road intersected with a larger one, Guzzo once again heard Frank's voice in his head.

"_Looking you struggling to survive, it's pathetic. We both know there's only one way out of this war: death"._

Guzzo shook his head furiously, trying to silence the haranguing whisper.

"_I tried to fight it, look what happened to me. C'mon Guzzo, you've got the gun. You can do Nichols first, then yourself. One brief moment of pain, and then it all stops"_ McCullin persisted in an even harsher tone.

"Get out of my head!" Guzzo hissed through clenched teeth.

"What was that?"Nichols inquired from behind.

"_DO IT SOLDIER! PUT HIM OUT OF HIS MISERY! THAT'S AN ORDER!" _the voice screamed in Guzzo's mind, and the sergeant clutched his head as he gave his own cry of frustration.

"Salvador, what's wrong!" Nichols's voice broke in, and he was shaking Guzzo violently, trying desperately to bring the sergeant to his senses.

Guzzo managed to focus, and he stared at Nichols, then down at the gun in his hand. Jack was somewhat frightened by the look in Guzzo's eye. He had seen it before, in France. One of the guys snapped and tried to rush a German MG position near Foret D'Ecouves that had the men pinned down. Naturally, the man was cut down the immediately. Still, Nichols would never forget the look the man had had in his eyes just before the rush.

This same look was now in Guzzo's eyes as he shifted his gaze from Nichols to the pistol in his hand. Jack took a cautious step backward, not sure what was going to happen. Suddenly, Guzzo held the Colt out to Nichols, butt-first.

"You take it" he said quietly.

"What?"

"Take the gun and then take point".

"But it's your gun".

"I DON'T WANT IT, NOW TAKE THE DAMN THING!" Guzzo screamed in what seemed to Nichols to be a desperate tone.

After some hesitation, Nichols took the gun from Guzzo's hand. The sergeant seemed immensely relived when this was done. Jack got ahead of Guzzo and they proceeded toward the main road. From the sounds of things, the fighting was taking place mainly behind them.

"Almost out" Nichols thought as he trudged onward, pistol in hand, "almost out".

* * *

_September 19, 1944. Arnhem, Holland._

Doyle stared at the spot on the horizon that was reported to be the enemy line. This line stood right between the paratroopers and their target: the bridge. What was left of 3rd Battalion had finally arrived, and the second lift had reportedly brought in reinforcements, although the reports also stated the newly landed men were under fire at the landing zones. It was a precarious situation.

"We can't make radio contact with anyone, not even the RAF. This whole thing is turning into a goddamn nightmare" he thought to himself with a sigh.

"Major, sir" it took a repeat of this addressing to get Doyle's attention, for he was still not used to being called 'major'.

Turning, Doyle was met by the sight of Starkey.

"Yes lieutenant?"

"General Urquhart has ordered us to advance to the bridge to relive 2nd Battalion. The men are waiting for your orders" Starkey explained.

"Right, gather them up" Doyle said, his resolve strengthening as he followed Starkey over to where a majority of the SAS men were waiting.

"Everyone gather around. The major wishes to address you" Robert shouted, and the young, exhausted faces formed a circle around him and Doyle.

"Alright, we've been ordered to launch an assault on the German line and break through to the bridge. Now, I know you've all 'eard the rumors that our reinforcements are pinned down at the landing zones, but we have reassurances from Urquhart himself that a brigade got through and will be covering out left flank. That's…uhhh…that's all then" it was Doyle's first time issuing a general order, and he did not have the same speech skills that Ingram had had.

No longer wanting to feel the men's eyes upon him, Doyle walked away as quick as he could. Starkey watched him go, but decided not to pursue. He needed some time to himself. Doyle walked over to the spot he had been standing earlier, and stared back out at the metal girders of the bridge in the distance.

"We're almost there Gerald" he thought.

"Sir" a voice sounded behind him, and he turned to see Keith standing behind him.

At first, James's resentment at Keith's previous behavior came back. But after a few seconds, he realized that he no longer possessed the strength to continue his hatred of the Scotsman, and he simply turned away and went back to looking at the bridge.

"I hoped that someday I would get a promotion like this, lead my own group of men. But I never wanted to get it this way" Doyle finally confessed after several minutes of silence.

Keith stayed silent for a moment. "He was my friend to, Doyle" the corporal continued in a quiet voice.

"You didn't get 'im killed".

"Neither did you".

"I should have had 'im covered" Doyle's voice broke a little as the painful memory of Ingram's death came back to him vividly.

Keith moved forward so he was standing right next to Doyle before sitting on the stone street. Despite the fact that they were of separate rank, despite the fact that they had not been on the best terms of late, despite the fact that it was against proper British Army etiquette, Doyle sat down next to Keith. And so, for the time being, they were James Doyle and Duncan Keith; two comrades fighting for a common cause.

As they sat, Keith pulled out a hip flask. Seeing James's annoyed look, he muttered an apology before putting it back in his pack.

"Where did you even get that?" the latter demanded.

"Found it on a dead Gerry officer" Duncan explained with a grin.

James shook his head, and then went back to staring at the distance. There was silence for a few minutes, broken finally, by Duncan.

"I have nightmares about her, you know" he whispered suddenly.

James looked at him curiously. "Who?" he inquired.

"DuFontaine" was the only reply.

"The lady from France?" James actually laughed, "you're gonna tell me you actually give a shit about French persons now?"

It was true; Keith had always had a rather biased streak when it came to the French. But ever since their experience in the Falaise Gap, his attitude had changed immensely.

"Well, weather you believe me or not, that's why I've been drinking…so much" the latter continued in a somber voice.

Realizing that Duncan was dead serious, James let the grin drop from his face and stared at him in shock.

"What on earth are you talking about?"

"I started having nightmares about her. Every night I'd wake up sweating cause I had relive her dying. It got so bad, the only way I could get a decent sleep was by getting piss drunk and passing out" Duncan explained his situation, a deep sadness in his eyes.

This image shocked James more than anything. Keith had always been so gruff and hard in his actions. To see the Scotsman open up about such a sensitive subject was truly a shocker. After several minutes of silence, James spoke up.

"You never told us, Ingram or me".

"Aye, well, couldn't give the major something to fuel his fire now could I" Duncan replied with a grin.

"Well, now he's gone, so I guess it makes no difference" the newly promoted major whispered softly.

"You'll be a god leader. Ingram knew, that's why he chose ya" Keith tried to reassure him, but Doyle simply stood back up.

"We should get moving, got a lot of work to do" he said quickly before heading off back toward the SAS battalion.

Keith remained seated, staring at the bridge as Doyle had done. Then, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the hip flask. The corporal opened it and brought it close to his lips in preparation to take a swig.

However, he hesitated and, after looking at the small canteen like bottle for a few seconds, poured the contents onto the stone street without taking so much as a sip.

* * *

_December 20, 1944. Foy Belgium. _

After running through the open streets of Foy, Nichols and Guzzo were approaching the exit on the far side of the town. Just as they reached the ending of the buildings, a MG-42 that had been set up in a building a few blocks behind them opened fire. The bullets landed in the snow around them, forcing the two Americans to take cover behind a wooden fence that surrounded one of the houses on the outskirts of the village.

"They got us pinned" Nichols cried desperately.

"Fire at them, keep 'em suppressed" the sergeant called back.

Despite being armed only with a pistol, Nichols did as Guzzo suggested and fired on the MG position with the Colt. As to be expected, it was not that effective, and the vicious rain of bullets continued to pound them. Eventually, the hail storm of lead began to take its toll on the fence they were crouching behind. The wooden barrier began to fly apart.

"We can't stay here!" Nichols pointed out.

"Where else can we go?"

Guzzo had a point. The road that led outside of town also led into open country side. They would be sitting ducks. Plus, beyond the fence there was no other cover on the street. A chunk of the fence collapsed right next to Nichols, and he braced himself for what was possibly the end. As the sounds of crumbling wood filled the air, he desperately tried to conjure the image of Laura's face in his mind's eye one last time.

Suddenly, the sounds of splintering fence were replaced by a loud rumpled, followed by the sound of bullets bouncing off metal. Nichols peeked over the fence, and found that the M18 they had been escorting was now blocking the MG fire.

"C'mon, move!" Guzzo shrieked, and the two men bolted for the M18.

The G.I.s positioned themselves so that they were protected from the enemy fire by the armored vehicle, which slowly moved down the street, this time escorting _them_. Once they were safely behind a building, Nichols and Guzzo climbed on top of the M18, which then raced out into the open countryside beyond Foy; toward Bastogne.

The hatch on top of the AT tread machine opened, and Lieutenant Foyer appeared.

"Thought we'd lost you boys; lucky we came along" he said with a grin.

"Great timing Lieutenant, sir" Guzzo replied, with an appreciative nod.

"Right, we got a rally point to get to, then, on to Bastogne" Foyer made this last statement, before going back inside the M18.

Guzzo glanced back at Foy, and saw McCullin standing on the side of the road a few yards back. The sergeant stared at Guzzo with cold, sunken in eyes, and shook his head.

"_There's no way out but death, Guzzo" _the gruff voice echoed in his brain, _"you'll realize that before the end"_.

* * *

_Hello folks. Sorry this chapter had so little combat but, as you might have been able to tell by the title of the chapter and the opening quote I used, this chapter was more orientated toward giving you a view of the emotional and psycological state of our heroes. Anyway, please review if you have the time :). Cheers. _


	16. Chapter 15

"_War does not determine who is right, only who is left" _–Bertrand Russell

Chapter 15

A bridge too far

_September 20, 1944. Arnhem Bridge, Holland._

Lovell had been attempting to get some sleep all the previous night, but it wasn't exactly working out. The sounds of sporadic gunfire and explosions had kept him up all night. On top of that, when the pockets of battle were not erupting around the perimeter, the Germans were pounding the Paratroopers with artillery. So no sleep came to Lovell, who was staring out the window at the sunrise when an exhausted looking private entered the building.

"Word from headquarters, we've enacted a temporary truce so we can transfer wounded to the Germans. Do you have any who can't fight?" the man announced grimly.

Lovell was stunned by this news.

"We're giving our wounded over to those Nazi bastards!" he demanded incredulously.

"Major Gough believes they can offer our wounded better care than we can at this point. We're not surrendering" the lieutenant tried to assure the private, but Lovell burst out angrily: "but they're the _enemy_! They wounded these men" gesturing toward two wounded soldiers who lay nearby.

"Those are our orders, the ceasefire is only in effect for a few hours" the man turned to Sergeant Price, "where are your wounded?" he inquired.

"Just Wilkins and Griffon there" Price gestured toward the two wounded soldiers leaning against the far wall of the room.

"Also, Lieutenant-Colonel Frost is among those being turned over. Major Gough will be in charge from here on out".

Then, without another word the lieutenant left. Shortly after his departure, four privates arrived with two gurneys. They placed Wilkins and Griffon on these, and then swiftly left. Lovell watched them go with a bitter feeling in his heart.

"They're giving our own commander over to those butchers" he whispered angrily.

"Gough is right, they can offer them more care than we can" Price replied quietly.

"AND WHAT ABOUT THEIR FAMILIES? YOU REALLY THINK THE GERRYS WON'T JUST BLOW THEM AWAY ONCE WE TURN THEM OVER!"

"I DON'T KNOW WHAT THEY PLAN TO DO, BUT YOU NEED TO KEEP A LEVEL HEAD, PRIVATE!"

At these words, Lovell went silent and stared back out the window at the bridge. After several minutes of staring, he reached into his pocket and pulled a small object which he focused his attention on as it sat in the palm of his hand. It was White's wedding ring. Price noticed this, and let out a sigh.

"I know it's not easy, lad. I have a wife and child back home myself, but we can't let it cloud our judgment" the sergeant continued in a quieter voice.

Lovell said nothing, only continued to look at the golden band in his hand.

"I'm sorry, George" he whispered to the tiny circlet of metal, "I'm so sorry".

* * *

_September 20, 1944. Arnhem, Holland._

The attack on the German line that now stood between the Paratroopers in Arnhem and the bridge began early that morning before the sun had even risen, but it dragged on until the sun had indeed peered over the horizon and risen into the overcast sky. The battle itself had dragged out for two reasons. The first was that the men had advanced a lot more slowly than had been anticipated, so they did not gain as much ground as had been hoped before daylight came, the second being that, as soon as daylight came, enemy artillery began pounding the exposed battalions.

Now, Doyle, along with Starkey and several other SAS men, lay on his belly in one of the craters that dotted the open landscape between the men and the bridge. A line had been set up on the far side of the plot, and MG fire was peppering the entire field.

"We can't stay here, we have to keep moving!" Doyle shouted to Starkey over the artillery shells pounding all around the small group.

"How, they've got us pinned in the open!" was the reply.

"The 16th will get that hill and take out the artillery spotters, until then, we just have to move cautiously!"

"They were supposed to have already taken the hill by now, what if they've been stopped?"

"Then we…we…" Doyle struggled for an idea. He had always been a man of few words, so the position of leader was difficult for him. "We just have to keep moving" he finished determinedly.

Starkey opened to mouth to say something. But whether it was a protest or an agreement, the new major neither cared nor waited to hear it. To the shock of all in the hole, Doyle stood up and began running across the open grass toward another hole. Bullets whizzed by him, and some slammed into the ground around him with a dull 'thud', but he kept running. After what seemed like an eternity later, he reached the next artillery crater and dropped onto his stomach once more.

Doyle sat there trying to catch his breath. He closed his eyes and listened to the sounds of shells streaking, machine gun fire, and men screaming in agony. The major could just picture the horrific scene that was unfolding outside the small sanctuary he now lay in. After several seconds of heavy breathing, Doyle opened his eyes and stood up in order to make another dash for the next crater ahead. However, someone grabbed Doyle's pack and yanked him back onto the ground.

"Major, what the bloody hell do you think you're doing!" Starkey's shocked face stared down at him.

"I'm advancing, Lieutenant. Now let me up!" the latter struggled under Starkey's grip.

"Sir, please, you can't be risking your life so rashly, you're too valuable to this regiment now" Robert attempted to reason with his friend.

"We have to keep moving!" was all Doyle could shout as he fought to get up.

"Doyle, for god's sake, you can't risk your neck like this, these men need you!" Starkey screamed.

These words seemed to bring the major back to his senses, and he ceased struggling. Seeing this, Starkey allowed him up. Doyle stayed on his belly, but crawled up to near the edge of the crater to take a peek at the field above. Some paratroopers had attempted to move up and Doyle looked up just in time to see them get cut down by the MG-42 fire.

"It's a damn bloodbath out there" Doyle muttered as he slid back down into the pit, "we have to find some way to take out those MGs".

"How? The line extends for several yards, and the artillery is blanketing the entire field" one of the SAS men who was with Starkey and Doyle pointed out.

"Maybe we can go around it, and…" Doyle never finished his sentence.

In a cloud of dust, Keith slid into the crater and stopped, crouching right next to his CO. "Major" he began, "we must retreat".

"What?" Doyle was stunned by this suggestion.

"1st and 3rd Battalions are retreating, they say they've taken too many casualties" Keith explained.

Both Airborne battalions were running thin. Between leaving half there original strength behind to guard the LZs for the second lift, the casualties they had taken fighting to and through Arnhem, and having to leave men behind to protect the corridor they had carved through the city (for much of northern Arnhem was still under Germans control) the "Red Devils" had shrunk considerably.

Still, the idea of retreat was completely outrageous to Doyle. Ingram would not have retreated.

"We're not retreating. We keep pushing" he told Keith.

"Sir, everyone else is. 1st and 3rd are both falling back, there's hardly any of them left" the corporal repeated, astonished at Doyle's order.

"Well, they can fall back if they want. The SAS is moving forward".

"Major, please, we can't move up on our own. We'll need those battalions for backup" Starkey once again attempted to reason with the adamant officer.

"NO, WE WON'T RETREAT! INGRAM WOULD NOT HAVE RETREATED!" Doyle screamed in frustration.

The crater went silent at these words. Many of the occupants were taken aback by this rash statement. After a minute or so of silence, Keith spoke up once more.

"Sir, there'll be another time. We'll be back, I'm sure it's just a temporary retreat. Even Major Ingram would have understood that".

These words sunk into Doyle's brain, and he realized that the corporal was right. Ingram would not have gotten his men slaughtered on some suicidal attempt. It was time for Doyle to be the intelligent leader that Ingram had believed him to be.

"Alright, tell the men. We're pulling back to Arnhem, go!" he ordered Keith, who saluted before heading up out of the pit to tell the others.

Doyle exchanged a solemn look with Starkey before beginning the process of pulling back toward the city. As he did so, he took one last look at the bridge, so near, yet so far.

"We've gone a bridge too far" he thought.

* * *

While most of the morning had been rather quite, the afternoon brought another series of sounds of sporadic battles and explosions all around the Arnhem Bridge perimeter. What frightened Charlie the most was that the sounds seemed to be getting closer. Now, as he sat staring out the window for perhaps the third time that day, Sergeant Price was standing off to one side looking very anxious.

"They should have been here by now" the sergeant muttered as he began to pace.

"Who?" inquired a private.

"The XXX Corps, or the other battalions, or…_somebody_" Price explained in frustration.

It was true. The 2nd Battalion's reinforcements should have arrived days ago, but they were still alone in holding the perimeter around the bridge. What was worse was that, from the sounds of things, the perimeter was not holding.

"If we don't get some reinforcements soon…" Price shook his head. He couldn't think like that, still, the thought remained in his mind.

He was still thinking about this when a loud explosion was heard, and it sounded very close. Price dashed to the window and look out onto the street that connected with the bridge. There he was greeted with a terrifying sight. A Panther tank along with several German soldiers was making its way down the road. British soldiers were firing on the mechanical behemoth from houses and MG nests, but all of these obstacles were no match for the advanced medium tank, which blew them away with ease.

"Oh shit, Lovell, get on the Bren, the perimeter has been breached" Price shouted as he ran back to his gun which was leaning against the back wall of the building.

Lovell did as he was told and took up position on the Bren that had been set up in the window. He too caught sight of the tanks and its escorted infantry. The fact was that the 2nd Battalion had more or less run out of AT ammunition and was powerless to stop the armored assault now battering their perimeter from multiple directions. One of these assaults had pushed to the bridge, and now Lovell faced it.

Seeing that the tank was busy clearing out another building, Lovell began firing down on the soldiers below. He did so in short bursts to keep his shots accurate. It worked to. Several of his shots struck their targets, and at least two or three Gerrys fell to the ground, some instantly dead, some screaming in agony form wounds.

Other paratroopers took up their own spots in the windows, and fired down on the enemy with their Enfield rifles. They were fighting for their lives and they knew it.

"C'mon lads, beat them back" Price encouraged his men as he himself fired down on the Germans with his Sten.

Suddenly, just as Lovell was reloading his Bren, the tank's attention focused on the building they were in. Price noticed this and lunged over to Lovell before throwing the Private to the ground shouting: "incoming!"

An explosion tore a hole in the wall, taking with it the window and the Bren. Lovell felt the wind and heat from the tank shell as it hit its target, and he covered his face defensively and curled up into a ball on the floor. After a few minutes, he took his arms away from his face. He was greeted with the sight of Sergeant Price's body lying before him. The back of the man's entire body was blown open, and blood was starting to pool around the corpse.

Horrified, but also angry, Lovell stood up defiantly and, grabbing Price's Sten (which was miraculously still in working condition) limped over to the hole (his leg had been hit by a piece of shrapnel). Once he reached the opening, the private leaned up against the remnants of the wall and began firing at the advancing Heer men with the Sten.

Several of them fell, though whether they were dead or wounded Lovell neither knew nor cared. He simply continued to fire on the group of men, unable or unwilling to move from his spot, even when the enemy began to fire back. Eventually, a German with a Kar98 landed a hit on Lovell, which struck his lower abdomen. Charlie grunted in pain and fell back inside the building. Despite the sharp pain, Lovell crawled over to a small desk that sat on one side of the room, and sat up against it to support himself. He glanced down at the hole just below where his kidney probably was. It was oozing blood freely.

The young Englishman applied pressure to the wound with both his hands in an effort to stop the bleeding. As he did so, he heard the sounds of voices from outside, voices speaking in German. These voices were just outside the closed door across from him. Suddenly, the oak door flew off its hinges, and three German soldiers entered. Two of them wore the bubble helmets of privates and were armed with Kar98 rifles. The third however, was wearing the cap of an officer, and carrying a StG 44.

The officer caught sight of the still alive Lovell. So did one of the privates, and he raised his rifle, aiming at the wounded paratrooper. However, the officer said something to the private in rapid German, and the two men started going around the room, firing shots into the corpses of Lovell's friends, probably to make sure they were dead.

The officer approached the wounded Lovell, who could not move due to the pain from his wound. The enemy officer stopped just in front of him, and set his StG down on the desk before pulling a Walther P38 pistol from his belt.

Lovell closed his eyes and he felt the cold barrel of the Walther being pushed against his forehead.

"God save the King" Lovell whispered.

Then, the shot rang out in the building. Private Charlie Lovell was no more. The Arnhem Bridge had fallen.

* * *

Doyle and the other men arrived in the town of Arnhem to find everything in disarray. Men were running back and forth, some clearly retreating, some running toward the hasty defensive line the men had set up. As the SAS commander and his crew arrived, Doyle immediately stopped a passing sergeant to question the man.

"The Gerrys are counterattacking from the north, sir" the soldier had explained, "and we've been ordered to pull back to Oosterbeek".

"What? By who?" Doyle had demanded.

"By General Urquhart himself, sir. He says that our reinforcements took a beating at the landing zones, and have pulled into a defensive pocket at Oosterbeek. We've been ordered to regroup there" the latter continued hastily.

"But what about 2nd Battalion at the bridge?"

"Urquhart thinks they may have already been over run. The XXX Corps was supposed to get here yesterday, but they still haven't arrived".

"Where is Urquhart?" Doyle asked, planning to try and talk some sense into the general.

"He's in Oosterbeek, sir. He moved his HQ there earlier today".

Doyle went quiet at these words. If Urquhart was retreating, then things were really bad. After a few minutes thought, he spoke again.

"Do we know what Urquhart's plan for the operation is?" he asked.

"Aye sir, we are to hold Oosterbeek, it will give XXX Corps a bridgehead across the Rhine, that way we won't need the bridge" was the reply from sergeant.

After a bit more thinking, Doyle saluted the sergeant, "thank you, lad. That'll be all".

The sergeant saluted back before hurrying off the down the road. Doyle turned to face Starkey who at the head of what was left of the SAS regiment (Doyle assumed around 68 men).

"What are your orders, major?" the lieutenant asked.

"Right, we're 'eading for Oosterbeek. Get the men moving, lieutenant".

Hearing this, Starkey ordered the lines of men forward, and they continued through the streets of Arnhem, the sounds of battle all around them. As they did so, Doyle looked around at the buildings around him, and sighed.

"So many good men died trying to take this place" he thought bitterly,

"All for nothing".

* * *

_Hello folks. I've noticed a lack of reviews lately, so I'm saying now, please take the time to **review**. Whether it's critcism (which helps inmprove my writing) or compliments (which tells me I'm doing this right) I'm interested in my reader's opinions, not my own. For example, I made it my goal to focus on the emotional and psycological effects of war in this story. Please let me know if this objective is being fulfilled or not. Hope you liked the chapter. Cheers. _


	17. Chapter 16

"_The death of one man is a tragedy, the death of millions is a statistic" _–Joseph Stalin

Chapter 16

Bastogne

_June 6, 1944. Omaha Beach, France. _

"_Thirty seconds to landing" a voice shouted above the din of artillery shells landing in the water all around the tiny landing craft Private First Class Salvador Guzzo now rode in. _

_A loud explosion nearby was followed by a spray of water that drenched the occupants of the LCVP. Guzzo instinctively held down his helmet and ducked down slightly at the sound of the detonation. _

"_Bastards got another one" a soldier shouted, glancing over the top of the vehicle. _

"_Ten seconds" the driver called. _

_Guzzo took a clip from his pouch and shoved it into his M1 Garand before checking to make sure the radio he had been entrusted with was secured firmly to his back. The LCVP gave a sudden lurch as it hit the sandy bottom and rode up onto the beach. Guzzo could hear the sounds of shells landing all over the beach area and bullets bouncing off the metal hulls of the landing vehicles. _

_With a metallic sound, the ramp dropped down on to the sand, and the men began to scramble out of the tight space they had all been crammed into back at the ship. Horrific would not have been a sufficient enough word to describe the scene that appeared before Guzzo's eyes as he approached the exit of the LCVP. Machine guns had been set up in pillboxes on the higher ground, and were firing down on the unprotected soldiers as they arrived on the beach. _

_Guzzo watched as almost an entire landing vehicle full of men was cut down by MG fire as they attempted to disembark. The screams of the wounded filled the air as Guzzo dropped to his stomach and crawled slowly through the sand to take cover behind a concrete, triangular looking, structure the men called a "dragon's tooth"._

"_HELP ME, HELP ME, I'M BLEEDING OUT!" screamed one voice. _

"_HELP ME MOMMY, THEY SHOT MY LEG OFF!" came another. _

"_I DON'T WANNA DIE!"_

"_Guzzo, get up here!" Sergeant Delaney screamed, shaking the PFC out of his nearly trance-like state. _

_Bullets continued to strike the sand around him as Guzzo began crawling toward a large rock were the rest of his squad had taken cover. An artillery shell struck the ground near him, and curtain of sand showered down on the radioman, who stopped moving and lay still, terrified to move. _

"_You can lay there when you're dead, now move!" Delaney screamed at him and Guzzo began to crawl toward the rock once more. _

_With every ounce of courage he could muster, Guzzo continued his agonizingly slow advance toward the cover. When he had finally reached it, Delaney was waiting impatiently. _

"_Get on the horn and tell the USS Arkansas that we need fire on the casemates ASAP!" the sergeant ordered the PFC. _

_Guzzo immediately took the phone on his radio and called into it: "this is Baker 5, Baker Company, 29__th__ Infantry, requesting fire support from USS Arkansas, over". _

_There was a great deal of commotion over the radio, but a voice replied through the din: "copy that Baker Company, where do you need it? Over"_

"_Uhhh…" Guzzo struggled to remember the grid system that had been taught to him in AIT, but the explosions and screams distracted him greatly. _

_Seeing this, Sergeant Delaney took the radio phone out of Guzzo's hand with a scoff and spoke into it. _

"_Echo-Bravo-Juliet, fire for effect, over". _

_The sounds of the artillery guns of the USS Arkansas going off could be heard from the beach and there was a whistling noise followed by a wall of explosion that pounded the bluffs directly ahead of them.  
_

_The pillboxes that had been pinning the men down erupted amongst the shelling, and the fire ceased. Seeing this, Delaney handed the radio back to Guzzo. _

"_If you ever fail at your duty again, I'll hang your teeth around my neck like a necklace, you understand me?" the sergeant whispered harshly. _

_Guzzo only nodded before taking back the radio and placing it back on its receiver. The squad moved forward across the beach along with other men. Actually, they ran, since the Germans were still battering the beach with their own artillery. Eventually they were pinned own by another set of MG positions, and Guzzo had to once again phone in an off-shore strike (though he remembered the grid for the most part afterwards). _

_Every now and then he would stop to gaze at men who had been grievously wounded, and some who were already dead. It was almost surreal, like a nightmare he would wake up from any moment. But it wasn't a dream, it was all real. _

"_Of course it's real" a voice said from behind him, "it's as real as it gets"._

_Guzzo turned and saw McCullin crouching behind the rock just behind him, looking at Salvador with those sunken eyes. _

* * *

_December 20, 1944. Bastogne, Belgium. _

Guzzo felt someone shaking him awake, and he opened his eyes suddenly.

The drive from Foy to Bastogne turned out to be longer than Guzzo had originally anticipated. Despite being one of the fastest treaded vehicles ever built, the M18 had made its way toward the town cautiously in the event of any further ambushes. They met with no trouble however, and, feeling the effects of several nights of little sleep, Guzzo had laid his head down on the hatch of the AT vehicle and actually went to sleep.

Now, as he straightened up from the slumped position he had been snoozing in and his eyes came into focus, he was greeted by the sight of a road that was leading into a town. On either side of the road were sandbag-laden machine gun nests, manned by men wearing the arm patches of the 101st Airborne.

"Screaming Eagles" Guzzo thought with a grin before asking aloud, "where are we?" though he already knew the answer.

"Bastogne" Nichols replied with a grin of his own.

They had made it, they had finally made it. The M18 was I amongst a convoy trucks carrying men into the city; men from not only the 101st Airborne, but also from the 28th, 112th, and other infantry divisions. Everyone was rallying at Bastogne. This would be where they made their stand.

As they convoy moved into the city, Guzzo and Nichols watched as squads of men dashed here and there, and trucks were loaded up to take men out to the perimeter surrounding the key city. Eventually, the M18 along with most of the trucks stopped in a large courtyard. Here, the commander of the city, General McAuliffe, had established his HQ.

Foyer disembarked the M18 and gestured for Nichols and Guzzo to follow him. The two men hopped off their ride and followed him to a sort of tent where McAuliffe and several others were discussing strategy.

"They can't break through the perimeter in the front, and it looks like they've figured that out. Now, recon reports that they're trying to go around us and encircle the city" an officer was reporting.

"What do we have on the west side?" McAuliffe demanded.

"Battalion has set up a command post at Hemroulle, and the rest of the perimeter to the west and south is being strengthened as we speak" the officer replied.

"They're gonna try to surround us" the general muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

"Uhh, there is one more thing, sir" a major stepped forward with a piece of paper in hand, "a German truce party gave us this. It's a request written by General Luttwitz himself" the man explained tentatively.

McAuliffe turned to the major with his eyebrows raised in interest. "And what does the Nazi bastard say in this…request?" he inquired curiously.

The major opened the letter and read: "he says that 'if you surrender now, I will guarantee the lives and safety of you and your men. Other commanders will not be so generous".

McAuliffe said nothing at first, only looked at the message in the major's hand thoughtfully. Finally, he let out a small laugh, to the surprise of everyone present.

"Damn Krauts, first they tried to kill us, and now they try to bullshit us into surrendering" the fiery general proclaimed.

He turned away from the major and noticed Foyer standing nearby.

"You got something to report lieutenant?" he demanded.

"Yes, sir, Foy has fallen to the enemy" Foyer replied, saluting as he did so, "I'd also like to recommend these two men for battlefield promotions" he continued, gesturing toward Nichols and Guzzo who were standing behind him.

The general looked at the two exhausted looking G.I.s with an interested gaze. "Really, and what rank do you suggest for them?" he asked.

"Sergeant for Corporal Nichols and Lieutenant for Sergeant Guzzo, respectfully sir" Foyer stated slowly.

"And what actions of theirs would justify such elevations?"

"They escaped from Wiltz in Luxembourg, they hijacked a Panzer IV, and they saved an M18 from an ambush. They're good soldiers, and fighter, sir".

McAuliffe looked the two soldiers over one last time, and then nodded. "Very well then, I approve the promotions, although we won't be able to get them any stripes for a little while" he granted.

"Very good, sir" Foyer gave one last salute, and then McAuliffe turned back to the major holding the message from the Germans.

"Sir, what should we tell the German truce party as your response?" the man asked.

"You tell those Nazi bastards 'NUTS!" the general replied firmly.

The major only nodded to show he understood, and then the general turned back to Foyer. "Get your men up on the perimeter to the west. We need every man out there" he ordered the lieutenant.

The latter saluted and turned to leave. Nichols and Guzzo prepared to follow him, but the major who had brought the note called to them: "you two wait a minute".

They both paused, puzzled looks on their faces as they turned to face the major. The officer approached them, and Guzzo realized that there was something familiar about the man.

"I sent a Corporal Nichols and Sergeant Guzzo to Wiltz two days ago, and something tells me you two might just be them" the major said with a grin.

At last it clicked in Guzzo's mind. "Major Holden, sir?" he whispered.

"The same soldier, how was Wiltz?"

"It was hell sir, but we've been through worse" Guzzo replied, a full on smile now on his face.

"Well, there are some men who have been rather concerned about you two. There over at the dispatching area a few blocks down the road. You go on ahead down there. I'm sure convincing Foyer that you to should be transferred to my command shouldn't be hard" Holden explained with a smile of his own.

"Thank you, sir" Guzzo had barely gotten these words out when he and Nichols began walking swiftly out of the tent and down the street, their boots crunching loudly in the snow as they did.

They eventually reached what they assumed was the dispatching center, as men and trucks were rushing back and forth in the large courtyard, which seemed to have been converted into some sort of supply dump. After a bit of wandering around, Guzzo caught sight of three soldiers sitting around a pile if oil barrels. One of the soldiers was sitting on one of these barrels, and was wearing a cap that Guzzo recognized immediately.

He grinned and pointed it out to Nichols before putting a finger to his lips and sneaking up behind the private.

"Attention Company!" the newly promoted Lieutenant shouted, causing Huxley, Ballard, and Kelly to leap to their feet.

The whole scene looked like something from an Abbot and Costello routine as the three men fumbled with their weapons in an effort to get into attention stance. Once they were in attention stance, Guzzo burst out laughing. Huxley turned to face him with an annoyed expression, which immediately dissolved into shock as soon as he recognized the face he was looking at.

"Holy shit, sarge?" he gasped.

"It's lieutenant now, private" the latter pointed out, still grinning widely.

"Oh my God, we thought y'all were dead" Huxley laughed loudly as Guzzo embraced him in a one arm hug.

"It takes more than the whole German army to take us out" Nichols said, giving Huxley a hug as well.

The other two privates simply stared in amazement at the two men (evidently they had thought them goners as well). After the reunion between Huxley, Guzzo, and Nichols, the five men sat down and began to swap stories.

Guzzo and Nichols told of their escape from Wiltz, their hijacking of the Panzer IV, the Battle of Noville, and the ambush at Foy. When this was done, Huxley explained how he and the other two new recruits had fled to Bastogne after Camp Cullman was eliminated.

"Did Colonel Cullman make it out?" Guzzo had asked during the tale.

"No knows what happened to him, but he hasn't shown up, so they're assumin he's dead" Huxley replied.

They spent the next few hours chatting, and just enjoying the fact that the other was still alive. At one point during the conversation however, Guzzo glanced off to his left and, to his horror, saw McCullin leaning against a barrel a few feet away, staring at him.

"_Aren't you gonna tell 'em about me, Guzzo?" _the voice sounded in his mind once more.

Guzzo gulped, and continued to stare that the dead sergeant until Huxley's voice brought him back to reality.

"Hey, Guzzo, you alright?" the southerner inquired.

The lieutenant shook his head and looked back at the men with a grin back on his face.

"Sorry, got distracted" he replied hastily.

The other three brushed the incident off, but Nichols continued to look at Guzzo with a concerned expression. He had been acting strange since Foy. Sal noticed the look that Jack was giving him.

"What?" he asked irritably.

"Nothing" Nichols replied, looking away in time to notice Major Holden approaching the group.

"Men, get ready to move out a 30 minutes, we're going to Hemroulle" the officer announced to the five friends.

"Yes sir" they all resounded at once and Major Holden headed off to alert the other men.

"Jeez, I could use some sleep" Nichols said with a yawn.

"Sleep ain't coming anytime soon, Gerry's pretty much got us surrounded from what I hear. 101st been holding the perimeter best they can, but…who knows what could happen" Huxley explained the desperate situation to the two new arrivals.

"Is it that bad?" Guzzo questioned.

"We can't get any supplies in, and half the men don't even have winter dungarees. Everybody's miserable at this point".

They had been so happy a few minutes ago, happy to see one another and to be reunited, but now, the reality of their circumstances closed in around them.

"It's a siege then" Guzzo thought bitterly, "we got away from them, and now they got us surrounded in a siege".

There was no rest for him or Nichols. No rest for anyone.

"_You'll rest when you're dead Guzzo" _McCullin's voice resounded in his mind once more.

"_You'll all rest when you're dead"_.

* * *

_Hello folks. For those of you who may have read the story from start to finish, you already know, but for those of you who maybe didn't, you'll have to read a previous chapter to learn the fate of Colonel Cullman (it may suprise you). Beyond that, just wanted to say a special **thank you** __to my faithful reviewers, your insight is most helpful. Happy reading. Cheers. _


	18. Chapter 17

"_The slaughter now ensues, bodies fall like rain. They valiantly pursue, yet are doomed to remain" _–_High Watermark, _Iced Earth.

Chapter 17

The siege of Oosterbeek

_June 14, 1926. 20 miles outside of York, England. _

_James sat looking out over the lush green field that lay below him as he stood upon a high hill overlooking his family's farm. After a few minutes of just staring, the eight year old boy spread his arms with his hands facing palms to the ground before taking off at a run down the hill. As he gained speed, he began making zigzag motions back and forth across the face of the hill as he careened down it as fast as he could._

_The young boy made a buzzing noise with his mouth to simulate the sound of an airplane propeller while occasionally making machine gun noises. He continued this until he reached the bottom of the hill, and stopped to catch his breath, grinning slightly. _

"_How many did you get this time, James?" a deep, but kind voice inquired. _

_The young James Doyle turned to see his father, a fairly tall man with brown hair and wearing a pair of overalls and a matching jean cap. Mr. Doyle was looking down at his young son with an expression of amusement._

"_Ten" James stated proudly. _

"_Ten?! Oh, c'mon now, you can do better than that me boy" the latter said with a wide grin, "You twenty of those bastards next time for your old man, eh?" _

"_Yes sir" the young boy said briskly, clapping his feet together and saluting. _

_At this, Mr. Doyle laughed and knelt down on one knee so he was almost face-to-face with his son. _

"_You want to be a pilot and shoot down the Huns like your dad, James?" he asked. _

"_Yes sir, more than anything sir" was the eight-year-olds reply._

"_What about the farming, wouldn't you rather do that instead?" _

"_I want to fly and shoot down those dirty Gerrys, like you did dad" the enthusiasm in James's voice was clear as a bell._

_Mr. Doyle let out a sigh and only shook his head.  
_

"_I told you too many stories of the Great War" observed and, to James's surprise, a look of sadness came over his father's face. _

_However, after a few seconds, the look disappeared from the man's face and he only grinned slightly at his son before giving him a soft rub on the top of his head. The farmer then headed back toward the house while his son, after watching his father go, ran back up the hill to go on another plane ride. This time, he would be sure to get twenty Germans. _

_Mr. Doyle watched his son run back down the hill, continuing his imaginary dogfights with the enemy. He was filled with a sort of pride at the sight, but also a sense of sadness. As he was watching from the deck of the house, Mrs. Doyle came outside. _

"'_E's a soldier that boy. Just like his father" she observed with a smile. _

_Mr. Doyle only frowned. _

"_That's what I'm afraid of" he whispered. _

* * *

_September 21, 1944. Oosterbeek, Holland. _

The small hamlet of Oosterbeek lay a few miles west of Arnhem. It was upon arriving in this small village that Doyle and the rest of the SAS learned the true seriousness of their situation. The second lift had been hit hard by German attacks at the LZs and what was left of the reinforcements had pulled back into the town after heavy fighting.

After learning this, Urquhart had ordered a general retreat, his intention being that, if they could not hold the bridge, at the very least the paratroopers would hold a bridgehead across the Rhine for when the XXX Corps arrived. But the hope that the Corps would reach Arnhem was fast dwindling from Doyle's mind. According to plan, the armored brigade should have been in Arnhem days ago, but they were nowhere to be found.

It was also upon reaching the city that Doyle found Lieutenant Bray and what remained of the 100 SAS men he had been sent to flank the enemy line with two days ago.

"Good God man, what happened?" Doyle had gasped in shock upon seeing that only 34 of the original 100 remained in fighting condition.

"We tried to hit the line, sir, but the Gerrys were ready for us, and we got slaughtered. We were trapped on this hill for two nights until we finally rushed the enemy line and managed to break through to Oosterbeek" the lieutenant had explained somberly.

Combining what was left of his men with Bray's, Doyle had a force of only about 74 SAS men remaining. Nonetheless, the major had volunteered his men to be on the defensive perimeter that was being hastily set up around the village to thwart the impending counterattacks.

"You and your men have been through a great deal Major. I would much rather place them in reserve than on the front line" General Urquhart had suggested upon hearing Doyle's request.

"Sir, please, one SAS man can fight as hard as three regular troops. We are more useful to you in combat" the latter had argued fervently.

After a bit more convincing, Urquhart relented, and the SAS regiment was set up with what remained of the 1st Battalion as well as others in the defending of the southeast section of the perimeter. Now, Doyle sat in a small building on the outskirts of the village that overlooked the trenches and foxholes that the men had dug in the woods just outside Oosterbeek.

It didn't feel right to Doyle somehow, sitting in this building while his men waited out on the line for the enemy to arrive. Keith was out in the defenses somewhere, while Starkey had volunteered to stay in the building with Doyle in order to act as the major's runner.

"They'll probably hit out section first, since they will be intent on cutting us off from the Rhine" observed one of the buildings other occupants.

"Then retreat is not an option" Doyle replied coolly.

Just then, there was a whistling noise, announcing an artillery shell that struck somewhere along the line. This was followed by another, then another: it was a full on barrage. However, most of the shells focused on the line, sot the building in which the officers were holding up was not in any danger. For some reason, this bothered Doyle even more.

"Here they come!" one officer pointed out and, sure enough, the green camouflaged figures could be seen making their way toward the line through the trees ahead of it.

The gunfire started almost immediately after the enemy was spotted. The trench line consisted of several MG positions (most of them being American lent Brownings) as well as AT guns. Despite this, the Germans made effective use of the cover the trees offered them, and very little casualties were inflicted.

Soon, another artillery barrage struck the trench line, except this time the enemy was clearly transmitting the locations of key things like MGs and AT guns, since the artillery fire was more focused than the previous. After the barrage subsided, the Germans who had been hiding in the forest rushed the trench line.

MG fire poured onto the attacker, but the barrage had taken its toll, and the volume of fire was not as great. Taking advantage of this, the Germans managed to reach a section of the trench line, and began to enter, and soon other groups of attackers were reaching sections of the line. Seeing this, Doyle picked up his Sten from the table and began striding toward the front door of the building.

However, Starkey moved to block his way. "Sir, with all due respect, you should stay here where it is safe" the lieutenant suggested.

"If this is overwhelmed, they will cut us off from the Rhine, we need every man in that trench" was the major's reply as he attempted to sidestep Starkey, but the young officer continued to block him.

"Sir, those men are doing their duty and dying for their country. We cannot afford to lose you".

"I WILL NOT SIT 'ERE AND WATCH MY MEN DIE! IF I DIE, THEN I WILL DIE AS ONE OF THEM!" Doyle screamed at Starkey, causing the lieutenant to freeze in shock.

Doyle maneuvered around Starkey and headed outside toward the trench line. Fortunately, the enemy had only broken through on the far side, so the beginning if the line closest to him was still firmly in British hands. Doyle, as soon as he reached the decent sized trench, began running as fast as he could, bumping into soldiers as he jogged down the line to where the majority of the fighting was happening.

It was a hand-to-hand combat nightmare. German and British soldier were struggling over rifles and such as the enemy attempted to clear the trench out and move on. Seeing several Germans moving down the trench toward him, Doyle took cover in a small pocket that had been dug off to the side. Once they were within range, he sprang from his cover, spraying bullets. The three Wehrmacht troops all fell dead. Beyond this was a small section where an MG had been set up.

The area had already been cleared by the Germans, and several were already in the area when Doyle approached. As soon as they caught sight of him, the other four Germans (two of them armed with Kar98s, one with an MP40, and one with a Gewehr 43) began firing on the major as he took cover behind a pile of dirt and rubble that had formed as a result of the artillery barrages. Pinned by the overwhelming fire, Doyle tossed a grenade over the cover, and heard the screams that accompanied the blast. The SAS man risked a peek over his cover, and saw that the grenade had killed two of the enemy soldiers, and wounded the other two.

The major leapt out from behind cover and moved into the cleared out section. Suddenly, one of the wounded Germans grabbed his leg and pulled him down onto the ground, causing him to let go of his Sten which flew across the area and smacked into the far wall of the trench before hitting the ground. The man who had grabbed Doyle's leg attempted to shit his grip to the major's neck.

Now began a battle to the finish as the wounded man and the British SAS man rolled around on the muddy ground, each searching for an advantage. At first, Doyle focused on the shrapnel wound in the German's leg, slamming his fist into it as hard as he could. But while the latter winced in pain with each hit, he did not cease his fighting. Doyle realized that this tactic was pointless, since they were not standing.

However, before he could try another, the German went on the offensive. With surprising strength, the young man punched the British major in the ribs. Doyle let out a grunt of pain, and loosened his grip on the man's hands, which immediately wrapped around the allied soldier's neck. Desperate to keep his attacker from choking him, Doyle grasped the strong pair of hands and pulled on them. While it was not enough to pry the hands away from his neck, it was enough to keep them from tightening enough to cut off his wind pipe.

The grapplers settled once more into a stalemate until, using every bit of momentum he could, Doyle managed to do a roll and position himself on top of the young German soldier. From this new angle, Doyle managed to pry the hands away from his neck, and then squeeze his own around the Kraut on the ground's neck.

But the Gerry still has some fight left in him, and he threw a vicious punch at Doyle's face, which connected with his jaw. This caused James to fall back, clutching his mouth in pain. The German managed to stand in spite of the wound in his leg, and pulled a knife from its sheath. Doyle saw this, and attempted to stand himself, but he was still disorientated by the blow. The German knew this, and delivered a vicious kick to Doyle's diaphragm, causing the major to stumble back some more and fall flat on his backside.

The Heer man advanced swiftly with his knife, and was about to plunge it into Doyle's chest when several shots rang out. In falling backward from the kick he had received, Doyle had landed right in top of his Sten! In one swift motion, the commando had grabbed the SMG and fired three shots into his assaulter's chest. The man fell dead instantly.

Doyle sat staring at the dead body before him, struggling to catch his breath. Despite the sounds of battle reverberating all around him, the major could not find the strength to stand. He simply stared down at the muddy ground, and occasionally up at the body of the young German he had killed (the boy looked about 17 years old). Suddenly, somebody offered Doyle a hand, and he looked up to see Lieutenant Starkey looking down at him.

"If we die, we die together, sir" he said quietly.

Doyle smiled up at him, and took his comrade's hand. Starkey helped his CO to his feet, and then handed him his Sten.

"Let's take these damned trenches back" Doyle growled and Starkey simply nodded.

The two men made their way down the trench line until they came to another hard point. Unlike the last point however, this one was being contested. British paratroopers hiding behind whatever covers fire they could, were firing on five Germans who had moved into the hard point. Doyle and Starkey took cover behind a series of wooden boxes with a sergeant.

"Who's in charge here?" Doyle demanded.

"I am, sir" the sergeant responded (for while Doyle still did not sport the stripes of a Major, he still had his stripes as a lieutenant).

"Do we know the situation in the trench line from here?" the major inquired anxiously.

"The enemy broke through at a few points, but it sounds like most of them were mopped up by the secondary trench line. We're just trying to secure the forward trench line at this point" the NCO reported as he fired at the enemy with his Lee-Enfield Rifle.

The men continued to fight, but it seemed fruitless as they had no flanking route to use against the enemy. Suddenly, the enemy was attacked from behind their positions, and was dead in seconds. A group of paratroopers led by none other than Keith appeared in the hard point.

"Bloody good timing, corporal" Doyle greeted Keith with a nod.

Keith grinned, "Figured you could use some help, major" he replied.

"What about the rest of the forward trench?"

"We're just cleaning the rest of the section back there up, it's back in our hands for the most part" Keith replied confidently.

"Don't count on it" Starkey muttered, and no sooner had the words left his mouth, when a cry arose from the woods.

"Here they come again!" a voice shouted from somewhere down the trench line.

Doyle got up into the MG nest connected to their hard point and saw another wave of Germans rushing the trenches.

"Get some ammunition up here, NOW!" Doyle screamed to his men before taking up positions on the Browning M1919 that had been set up.

He immediately began firing on the advancing German line. He was not the only one. MG fire erupted from several MG positions along the trench line. Several enemy soldiers targeted Doyle's area, and began firing at him. The major turned his MG on the men and began hosing the area until his belt ran out.

"GET ME MORE ROUNDS!" the officer ordered, and Keith immediately handed him another belt of MG rounds.

Doyle lifted up the top of the Machine gun and slipped in the first round on the belt before closing the top and yanking back on the bolt, and firing. At first things seemed to be going well. After taking heavy losses, the Germans began to retreat toward the woods. A loud cry of victory went off up and down the trench line.

The paratroopers did not get much time to celebrate however. There was a faint whistling noise that reached Doyle's ears, and he looked upward just in time to barely see a shell strike the ground directly in front of him, throwing him back from the MG position. More shells fallowed as the trenches were hit with another artillery barrage.

Doyle heard none of it though. His ears were ringing too much, and he could not stand as he lay in the bottom of the trench completely disorientated. Keith's face appeared over him, yelling something that Doyle could not understand. Doyle could see the explosions erupting in and around the trenches as he attempted to sit up.

His hearing was started to return, but a wave of lightheadedness suddenly swept over him, and blackness began to close in.

"Doyle, look at me! You're gonna be alright! Doyle!?" Keith's voice was barely audible as the major slipped into unconsciousness.

The last comprehendible thing Doyle heard was someone shouting: "here they come again!"

"We have to stop them" James whispered in a raspy voice, "We have to…" and then, there was nothing but darkness.

Darkness and silence.

* * *

**_Attention! This is an important message! Read it!_**_ Well, we are almost at the end of out story (a few more chapters). I have two ideas for my next CoD fanfic, but I will only write one (sorry). The first is called Justified, which follows Nichols's son during his service in the Vietnam War. It focuses, once again, mainly on the psychological and emotional wonds of war. The second is called Above and Beyond which is an alternate history story where the Germans win WWII and occupy the U.S. The story will focus on Nichols and others as they fight to resist the Nazi occupiers. One again, I will only write one of these, so I have established a poll to see which one my readers want to see. So please,** take the time to go to my profile and vote for which story you want to see next. **Happy reading. Cheers. _


	19. Chapter 18

"_Never has so much been owed by so many to so few" _–Winston Churchill

Chapter 18

A determined enemy

_December 21, 1944. Near Hemroulle, Belgium. _

Following their arrival at the city of Bastogne, things had become more and more chaotic for Guzzo and his men. Only hours after reaching the city, the men were loaded onto a truck and sent to Hemroulle, a small town just outside the city of Bastogne, and a key center in the perimeter around the city.

Now, as the truck drove into a courtyard (that looked almost exactly like the one they had just left, giving Nichols a deep sense of déjà vu) the squad was unloaded along with other new arrivals. The new arrivals were all gathered into a line of ranks where a 101st Major issued the squads posts. Guzzo and his squad were lucky. Rather than being assigned to a fox hole out in the frozen countryside beyond, they were assigned to a small hamlet of buildings just to the southwest of Hemroulle.

Another truck ride later, the five men were sitting inside a small house among a clump of maybe four or five buildings. Airborne troops were positioned here as well, some manning machine gun positions, others manning an M7 Anti-tank gun. What was formerly a handful of structures had been transformed into an effective hard point. It was much needed as well. During their time in Bastogne, Nichols had managed to overhear the conversations among the senior officers.

Based on what he was able to pick up, the situation was grim. The Germans had forced a massive bulge into the American lines all over southern Belgium. Now, the Kraut forces had surrounded Bastogne, cutting its defenders off from any sort of aid. However, General Patton was reported to be on his way with a relief force. Until it arrived, the defenders had to hold.

Nichols was still thinking about the situation when Kelly suddenly spoke up.

"They've got us surrounded. What happens if no one shows up to relieve us?" he asked anxiously.

"They will relieve us" was Guzzo's only reply.

A silence fell over the group once again. Well, mostly silence. Ballard's teeth chattered as he struggled to stay warm. They were all struggling to do so. Among other shortages, the defenders of Bastogne did not have much access to winter uniforms, and most were still using their fall ones. Nichols too could feel the icy wind that blew into the building (mostly due to the big hole in the ceiling caused by artillery fire) cut through his thin uniform and brush his skin. He shivered a little, and rubbed his arms with his hands.

Only Guzzo seemed unaffected by it all. The newly promoted Lieutenant's behavior was continuing to worry Nichols. Sal simply sat with his Thompson in hand, staring at the floor unmoving, not making a sound; just staring.

"Lieutenant?" Nichols prodded Guzzo gently.

He stirred a little, and looked over at Jack. Something in them man's eyes made Nichols nervous.

"What?" Guzzo asked in a quiet voice.

"Are you alright?" the latter inquired with concern.

Guzzo said nothing, only resumed staring at the floor. Nichols decided that pursuing the matter was pointless, and went silent as well.

Once again, nothing could be heard except the chattering of Ballard's and Huxley's teeth.

* * *

_September 21, 1944. Oosterbeek, Holland._

The sounds of gunfire and explosions immediately began to filter into Doyle's mind when consciousness started to return to him. His eyes slowly fluttered open, and he was greeted with the sight of Keith and Starkey firing at an unseen enemy from inside the trench. Doyle was lying against the dirt wall on the far side of the fortification, and he attempted to stand but his legs felt like rubber, and he simply collapsed back on the ground with a groan.

Starkey heard the groan, and turned in its direction. Seeing that his CO was awake, the lieutenant ran over to him, and knelt down beside the disorientated Englishman.

"Major, major, can you hear me?" Starkey's voice sounded far away.

Doyle only nodded before trying to stand again. This time he was successful with a little help from Starkey.

"Where's my gun?" Doyle asked in a horse voice.

"Sir, you probably shouldn't be moving so soon. You may have been…" Starkey began a protest, but Doyle ignored it, picking up his Sten which he spotted laying on the ground nearby.

Seeing that there was no reasoning with the major, and, based on his last attempts to talk any sense into Doyle, Starkey decided to not argue, and simply moved with his CO up to the trench line. Keith was still firing on the German attackers, who were pushing toward the line from the trees. It seemed to Doyle that nothing had really changed since he was knocked out.

The Germans were still hitting the trench, although now the paratroopers had control of the fortification once again. Nonetheless, things were not looking well. The MG fire from the trench seemed to have lessened considerably (presumably from loss of machine gunners and machine guns) and the Wehrmacht was slowly getting closer with each successive push.

"We can't hold much longer" Doyle muttered.

"If we could get some bloody support, we might have a chance" Keith observed as he changed the clip in his Sten.

Support, that was it! Doyle turned to Starkey and asked quickly: "did the second lift bring in the new radio equipment?"

"Aye" the latter nodded, and Doyle bolted down the trench toward the forward CP.

Upon reaching the HQ, the winded major broke in and immediately walked over to the desk where the radio operator was working with the newly arrived set. The other officers were staring at Doyle in shock.

"Major, are you wounded?" asked one of the men.

"I'm fine" James replied briskly, not seeing why they would ask him such until he looked over at a mirror on the far side of the room and saw that his face was covered in blood.

He shook off the fact that he was clearly wounded, since the fact that he could stand was an obvious sign the wound was not mortal, and looked back at the radio man.

"Have we made any radio contact with the RAF or the XXX Corps?" he inquired of the operator.

"We managed to make radio contact with the forward elements of the XXX Corps at Nijmegen" the young private confirmed.

"Good, ring them up, and tell them we need artillery support, now!"

The operator did as he was ordered and contacted the 64th Medium Regiment, Royal Artillery. After transmitting some coordinates, a thundering sound could be heard, followed by barrage after barrage that rained down upon the forest where the German attacks seemed to be coming from.

Doyle watched from the doorway as the artillery hit its target for the most part, and smiled with satisfaction as the Germans retreated in a panic.

"That's one for us, courtesy of XXX Corps" he thought.

His thoughts were interrupted by a voice that sounded over the radio inside.

"_This is 1__st__ Battalion Border Regiment, we are taking heavy counterattacks at Driel Hill, repeat, heavy counterattacks! We need reinforcements, now!" _a desperate voice shouted through the sounds of gunfire and explosions that emanated from the line.

Hearing this, Doyle straightened up. "I'll take some men over there and give them a 'and" he volunteered, then, without waiting for a reply, he headed off toward the trenches to gather up some men.

Leaving a trail of blood as he did so.

* * *

_December 21, 1944. Near Hemroulle, Belgium. _

The attack was announced by the silent arrival of mortar fire. One moment everything was quiet, the next, explosions were erupting all around the small hamlet that Guzzo and the others had taken up residence in. Shortly after the mortars had ceased dropping, there was a shout from outside.

"HERE THEY COME!" someone shouted, and both Guzzo and Nichols ran outside to check the situation.

German infantry, supported by Panzer IIIs, were pushing forward toward the hamlet. The rest of the squad came outside, and Guzzo immediately started issuing orders.

"Huxley, you and Ballard get in that house there and start laying down fire when they get close enough! Kelly, your with me! We're gonna help 101st defend the MG emplacements. Nichols, get over to the AT gun and help defend it!"

Jack did as he was told and headed for a small structure that was presumably a barn. The M7 had been set up inside the building so that it was sheltered from above, and because it had a hole in the side that opened up on a perfect view of the direction of the enemy line.

Several Airborne troops were firing the AT gun at the fast approaching tanks, and Nichols approached one of them. He tapped the man on the shoulder, and he turned to face Jack with a look of annoyance.

"I'm your reinforcements" was all Nichols explained.

"You gotta be shitting me!" the paratrooper exclaimed in disbelief.

There was a loud bang as the AT gun fired, causing the Airborne soldier to jump a little.

"Alright, get your ass up on that sand bag line and keep Gerry off the gun" the man ordered Nichols (despite that fact that they were of equal rank technically).

Nichols took up a position behind a pile of bags that had been set up in front of the gun, and he peeked over to see two of the tanks heading straight toward the barn, the infantry not far behind. MG fire was already being peppered down on the advancing enemy, and Nichols began to fire at the infantry with his M1 Carbine. As they got closer, the sergeant began to land a few hits. He watched as, after firing a shot, a white-clad figure fell to the ground clutching his leg in pain.

Unfortunately, the advancing tanks began firing on the AT position, and explosions began cropping up around Jack's area. He ducked down behind the sand bags to avoid being hit by shrapnel. A soldier ran up to him and grabbed his shoulder.

"They're trying to flank us, c'mon, I need a spotter" the man shouted, he was armed with a scoped Springfield rifle, and was clearly a sniper.

Nichols nodded, and followed the Airborne man outside. They then scaled a pile of sandbags outside and climbed onto the roof of the barn. It was a dangerous climb. The snow made the roof slippery, and Nichols nearly fell twice (although the sniper had no problems as he nimbly made his way up the slanted rooftop). When they reached the top, the sniper handed Nichols a pair of binoculars.

"Spot targets for me" he ordered, and the latter took the binoculars with a nod.

Nichols began scanning the snow covered countryside for targets. He noticed a German soldier wearing the cap of an officer sitting atop of one of the tanks approaching the hamlet. He pointed this out to the sniper, who took the shot, and Nichols watched through the binoculars as the officer's head jerked back and he fell off the tank, dead.

Jack went back to spotting targets, and the two men managed to get into three more kills. Meanwhile, the M7 had managed to take out one of the tanks, but the other two were still firing on the hard point, one targeting the AT gun, the other targeting one of the MG positions. Nichols noticed that one of the tanks had turned sideways, and was busy firing upon its target.

"Look, you have a clear shot at his fuel tank" he pointed out to the sniper.

"In case you ain't noticed, this ain't an anti-tank rifle" the man sneered.

"You can do it, you just gotta hit the cap" Nichols repeated the lesson that Dixon had taught him all those months ago.

"Oh yeah, well then let's see you do it" the sniper held his rifle out to Nichols, who took it after a brief moment of hesitation.

Jack had always been famous for his keen eye. While he had never had any experience with a gun, but he used to take his friends' breaths away whenever he played darts at the bar near his house. With a steady aim, he lined up the scope's crosshairs on the small, red cap that was on the side of the round cylinder shaped tank on the side of the tank. He gently squeezed the trigger.

The gun went off and, a brief moment later, the tank he had been aiming at was engulfed in flames as an explosion. Seeing this, Nichols looked back at the Airborne soldier and grinned. The sniper shook his head, and Nichols looked back out toward the tank line. The last remaining tank was retreating while still being fired upon by the M7, and the infantry were pulling back as well.

Seeing this, the sergeant next to him began climbing down the rooftop.

"Hey, you want your rifle back?" Nichols called after him.

"You keep it, anyone who can make that kind of shot deserves that rifle more than me" the latter replied with a shrug, before picking up the M1 Carbine that had previously been Nichols's.

Jack looked back at the retreating enemy. He was filled with a sense of pride that he had not felt in a long time. A feeling of accomplishment. His feelings of glory evaporated as a voice said in his mind.

"One attack halted; one out of many more to come".

* * *

_September 21, 1944. Oosterbeek, Holland. _

As Doyle, along with Keith, Starkey, and several other men he had gathered approached the hill overlooking the Driel Ferry on the west side of the Oosterbeek perimeter they could see the true desperation of the situation. Men were firing down on the enemy as they were slowly advancing up the side of the hill. Several trenches had been dug in the hill, but many of these on the west side had been overtaken.

At the top of the hill, the defenders had dug a trench on a complete circle around the apex of the hill, and were firing upon the assaulters below. Doyle entered the trench with his men and spread the out along the line to provide fire support before approaching the man who appeared to be in charge.

"What's the situation 'ere?" he asked.

"Gerrys fighting like banshees" the CO explained in a thick Irish accent, "on top 'o that they got armored support, and we don't have any anti-tank weapons".

"Well, the enemy is moving all his forces onto those trenches to the left. If you counterattack on the right, you could cut them off" the latter observed with a superior knowledge of tactics.

"Right, I'll leave it to you then" the Irishman nodded to Doyle, acknowledging his superior battle skills.

Doyle shouted out a few orders, and the group of men holding the right trench began to charge the trench line down below them. They overtook it easily, as Doyle knew they would, and he moved down into the newly capture trench along with Starkey and Keith.

"Tell the men still at the top to 'it the Gerrys in the left section of the 'ill. We'll start pushing from the right 'ere" Doyle issued an order to Keith, who nodded and ran back up the hill to rally the men.

Doyle moved the men forward, down the trench line, driving the enemy back. The major was right in the thick of it. He hid behind a corner taking fire from a German with a MP40. He waited until the man had to reload, and then fired at him with his Sten. Clouds of blood burst from the German's chest, and he crumpled to the ground.

The men continued to push until they were near the end of the trenches and linked up with the other group of men being led by Keith. Doyle was about to order an assault on the next level down from them, but he stopped when he caught sight of two SAU 17 French tanks making their way up the hill.

"Armor, take cover!" he shouted, just as the tanks opened fire.

Men were cut to pieces by the shells, and others were burnt to a crisp (the tanks were equipped with flame throwers). General panic overtook the one effective fighting force, despite Doyle's best attempts to rally them.

"C'mon lads! You're British soldiers! Stand your ground!" he screamed desperately.

"James, get down!" Starkey screamed, for he had noticed that one of the tanks had aimed its turret at the major.

"BOOOOM" an explosion sent both men flying through the air, and Doyle let out a cry of pain as he hit the ground with a thud. He opened his eyes and could see Starkey lying nearby. After a few seconds, the lieutenant stirred and looked up at Doyle. He then crawled toward his helmet which was lying nearby and put it back on his head before picking back up his Sten.

"Major, we have to pull back!" Starkey was shouting, as he moved over to Doyle and attempted to lift him.

Perhaps because it was his second time that day being hit by the concussion of an explosion, Doyle found himself too disorientated to stand. After a few seconds, he managed to get to his knees and Starkey backed up a little, firing at the advancing enemy.

"Doyle, c'mon, we stay here and we'll be over-ru…" Starkey never finished his sentence.

It was like it was in slow-motion. Doyle could actually see the small lead bullet as it flew through the air. Could see it as the piece of metal hit Starkey's neck in a cloud of blood, then exited out the other side. Starkey's body gave a great lurch, and then fell limp. He collapsed on the ground, unmoving. Doyle simply stared at the body of his friend in pure terror.

"Bob, NO!" the major screamed, somehow finding the strength to stand and run over to the body of one of his closest friends. They had known one another since flight school.

"No" he whispered more quietly.

The sounds of gunfire brought him back to reality, and Doyle realized that he would share Starkey's fate if he did not retreat with the others. He ripped the dog tags from Robert's neck before grabbing his Sten and running from the trench up the hill as fast as he legs could carry him. The tanks were still firing on the last remnants of paratroopers in the trench line, and the cruel flames of the armored monsters cleared out any survivors.

Doyle reached the top of the hill, and found that the defenders were not just retreating from the lower levels of the hill; they were retreating from the hill itself. He watched as the men ran down the other side of the hill, toward the safety of Oosterbeek. It was over, they had lost Driel Hill.

"I'm sorry, Robert" Doyle whispered.

It had been James who had insisted that they go to Driel Hill and reinforce the 1st Battalion. It was his idea, despite Starkey's protests. He had ignored the advice, and now, Robert had paid for it.

Doyle managed to find Keith in the chaos, and the two friends ran from the hill following the rest of the retreating paratroopers. He took one last look back at the hill, and saw the tanks drive up on top of it, followed by soldiers, shouting in triumph. Triumph over the hill they had captured. The hill that Doyle had lost.

Along with a friend.

* * *

_Hello folks. I figured you guys were missing some good old fashioned combat, so I decided to give you a break from the psychological stuff (enjoy it while it lasts). Still, our hero Doyle just doesn't seem to be having much luck lately, does he? Anyway, also wanted to say that **if you know which story you want to see next. Don't tell me in a review, vote for it in the poll, because that's what I'm going off of. **The poll itself will be open until the end of the story. Happy reading. Cheers. _


	20. Chapter 19

"_I have long feared that my sins would return to visit me, and the cost is more than I can bear" _Benjamin Martin, _The Patriot._

Chapter 19

Sins past

_December 22, 1944. Near Hemroulle, Belgium._

The rest of the day had gone by in a rather monotonous routine. The Germans did not make another armored push as they had earlier that day; instead, the enemy had taken to routinely dropping mortars on the small hamlet every hour or so. There had been three other casualties since the enemy attack that morning, and it seemed that the entire siege for Guzzo and the others would be a long period of sporadic barrages.

The five men had taken to staying inside the building they had taken shelter in the first day in order to avoid the random mortar drops. Eventually, night fell, followed by a light snow fall. The barrages ceased with the fall of darkness, and Guzzo guessed that the enemy would not make anymore attempts to mortar the hard point with the snow and darkness obscuring their view.

This thought emboldened the lieutenant to step outside the building in order to take a piss sometime during the night (he couldn't be sure since he was not able to see his watch in the dark. The snow crunched under his boots and he could feel the flakes that were falling, settling on his head as he walked toward one of the smaller buildings a few yards from the one he just left.

There was a blast of wind that made Guzzo shiver as he stood behind the building, urinating on its brick side-wall. When he had finished and closed up his pants, Sal turned to head back to the house the rest of the squad was hiding in, but found himself face-to-face with McCullin.

He was so surprised by this that he fell back against the side of the building and slid to the snowy ground, staring at Frank in shock.

"_You seem surprised"_ the sergeant said with a chiding laugh.

"What the Hell do you want!?" Guzzo demanded angrily.

"_We need to talk. I found someone on the other side who knows you apparently, and he had quite an interesting story to tell"_ the latter said darkly, his eyes narrowing on Guzzo.

"This is impossible. You're dead, Dixon told us you died, and he wouldn't lie" Salvador shook his head before standing up and walking away from McCullin, back toward the house.

McCullin followed close behind him however, and called after the lieutenant, _"Martinville, July 15th, 1944"_.

These words caused Guzzo to freeze, and he turned to face McCullin with a look of terror.

"_That's right, I know what happened"_ the deceased sergeant continued with a malicious scowl.

Guzzo closed his eyes, as he too remembered Martinville. And what had occurred there.

* * *

_July 15, 1944. Martinville, France. _

_As bad as things had been at the beaches when he first landed in France, to Guzzo, it seemed that things got even worse as the army pushed inland. Eventually, the division had been called in to capture a small town called Martinville in order to secure a route for the armored divisions. The town itself was a simple place, not very large, yet the Germans had out up a stiff resistance, and the battle had degenerated into brutal house-to-house fighting. _

_Guzzo, along with the rest of his squad, was taking cover from an artillery strike from a nearby hill (it seemed the Germans were more willing to destroy the town then give it up). When the barrage lifted, Sergeant Delaney ordered his men to move across the street and start clearing the houses there._

"_The 4th Armored will be here soon. We have to capture this town, and fast!" the sergeant had shouted to his men before leading them in a mad dash across the street. _

_This was made all the more dangerous by a German MG-42 position that was overlooking the street from a building a few blocks down, and began to spray lead at the men as they ran out into the open. A guy right in front of Guzzo took a hit to the neck and fell dead on the street. Intent on his own self-preservation, Sal merely leaped over the fallen man and continued running. _

_When he had reached the building, Delaney split them up into teams, and had each team clear a floor. Guzzo and another private named Folly were tasked with securing the top floor. The two privates, both armed with M1 Garands, made their way up the stairs cautiously. The door at the top was closed. Guzzo put his ear to the door and could hear voices speaking in German. _

_He looked at Folly and nodded. The young private nodded back before reaching for the door handle and slowly turning it. As he did so, there was a cry from inside the room, and several shots were fired through the door. Folly let go of the handle and pressed back up against the side wall as much as he could. The shots lasted only a few seconds, and then everything went quiet. _

_Guzzo waited a few seconds then gestured for Folly to attempt to open the door again. This time, as his comrade grasped the doorknob and slowly turned it, Guzzo took a grenade from his belt and pulled out the pin. Seeing this, Folly flung the door open, and stepped back as bullets began to fly through the open doorway. Guzzo tossed the grenade inside and the subsequent explosion silenced the gunfire. _

_The two soldiers entered the room, Garands at the ready. Aside from the remains of two German soldiers, the room was empty, so the two went back downstairs to rally with the others. Delaney and the rest of the squad were waiting in the living room and, at a nod from Guzzo, Delaney turned back to his squad. _

"_Right, let's move boys, we got more houses to clear" the sergeant shouted, and the group made its way back toward the doorway. _

_The street was still taking fire from the MG position at the one end, and so once again the squad ran across the street toward a house with a large hole in its side. Santores and Folly went first, followed by Allan. Soon, only Guzzo and Delaney remained. Delaney ran out into the street and Guzzo followed. _

_However, about half-way across, a bullet from the MG struck Delaney's upper left leg, and he fell to the ground, screaming in pain. Guzzo kept running until he was inside the house and took cover behind a remnant of the blown away wall, breathing heavily. Folly and the other squad members were engaging a group of Germans in the living room, and thus were too busy to notice the scene unfolding behind them. _

_Guzzo peeked out from behind his cover and saw Delaney attempting to crawl across the street, but his wound was too painful and he collapsed in exhaustion. The sergeant looked up and saw Guzzo staring at him from behind cover._

"_Guzzo, help me!" he cried, extending a hand toward where Guzzo was crouching. _

_Salvador stared at this man lying in the middle of the street. He no longer looked or sounded like his tough-as-nails sergeant, but like a scared child, screaming for help. Still, Guzzo was reluctant to go out and help the poor man. The MG was firing at the wounded figure, and Guzzo could see the brief puffs of dirt as bullets landed all around the wounded man. _

"_PLEASE HELP ME!" Delaney shouted desperately. _

_Guzzo glanced back at the rest of the squad, who were still busy fighting the enemy in the next room, then back at Delaney. _

"_If you go out there to get him, you will die" said one voice in his head._

"_But you can't just leave him out there" said another. _

_Guzzo ducked back behind cover and closed his eyes, weighing the options. Finally, he came to the difficult decision and got up from behind cover. The PFC looked at his CO on last time, then turned and headed toward the living room where the rest of the squad was. _

"_GUZZO WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU GOING!? GUZZO!" Delaney screamed at the top of his lungs just before several of the bullets being fired at him made contact, causing him to convulse violently before going still. _

_Guzzo never looked back. _

* * *

The lieutenant shook his head in an effort to make the harsh memory leave his mind. He opened his eyes and looked back up at McCullin who was still standing a few feet from him.

"_Our CO bought it in Martinville'. That's what you told me when we first met at St. Lo. Course, you conveniently left out the exact details of how he died" _the sergeant stated in an accusatory voice as he glared at Guzzo.

"This is war, men die in war" Guzzo whispered.

"_Your sergeant died because you didn't have the balls to go save him!" _McCullin shouted angrily, _"the man had a family, and you just left him for dead!"_

"What about me, I got a family. I got a mom, and a dad, and a sister for God's sake" Guzzo retorted with equal anger in his voice.

McCullin fell silent, and he stared at Guzzo with a contemptuous look. Then, to Guzzo's surprise, the look turned into a grin.

"_You've been beating yourself up over what happened to Delaney, but what you don't get, is that you did him a favor"_ the dead man explained in a calmer voice.

"What are you talking about?" Guzzo demanded, shocked by McCullin's words.

"_How many times am I gonna have to explain this to you?" _the latter exclaimed in an exasperated voice, _"Death is the only way anyone is getting out of this war. Death is the only way out. What I don't get is that you happily set Delaney free, and you didn't even really like the guy, but you won't set your squad, your closest friends, free as well"_.

Not wanting to hear anymore of McCullin's poisonous words, Guzzo turned to walk away but the sergeant appeared right in his face.

"_All you have to do is take that knife on your belt, go in there, and cut all four 'ems throats while they're sleeping. Then you can do yourself however you want. It's the only way any of them are getting out, Guzzo" _Frank persisted.

"Get the fuck away from me!" Guzzo shouted, pushing McCullin out of his way.

"_Look!" _McCullin grabbed Guzzo by the collar and slammed him up against the wall of the building,_ "you can keep being a high-minded prick or you can do them, as well as yourself, a favor and just ended. Otherwise they'll only suffer more, and I promise you it's only gonna get worse from here!" _

Guzzo stared into the sunken in eyes of McCullin, the dark brown irises seeming to have no color in the darkness of the night.

"_The choice is yours, Guzzo" _Frank growled before throwing the soldier down on to the snowy ground.

Sal sat there for a moment, breathing deeply. He looked up and found that he was once again alone, McCullin had disappeared. After a few minutes, the lieutenant got shakily to his feet and headed back to the house.

However, he failed to see Nichols who was hiding around the corner of the building, and had witnessed entire episode, though of course, he had seen only Guzzo talking to no one, and slamming himself up against a wall.

"What's happened to you, Sal?" the sergeant whispered as he watched his friend trudge back to the house.

"What's happened to you?"

* * *

_September 21, 1944. Oosterbeek, Holland_.

Corporal Keith walked out of one of the buildings near the south edge of town, and gazed out over the open field ahead toward the ribbon of water that was the Rhine River. It was sunset, but the overcast sky kept the sun from shining the last of its weak rays down on the besieged town.

As he prepared to go back inside, he noticed Major Doyle sitting on top of a pile of crates, also staring out at the Rhine River. After a moment's hesitation, the Scotsman approached his brooding CO, and saluted him.

"Major, sir, do you mind if I sit with you?" he asked.

"Why do you have to be so bloody formal?" Doyle sighed.

"Well, I believe it is proper etiquette, sir" the latter replied with a shrug before sitting down on a crate next to Doyle.

James was staring out at the river blankly, and Keith noticed that he held Starkey's dog tags in one hand.

The corporal cleared his throat before speaking. "He was a good man, Starkey, a good fighter" he observed.

"And a good friend" Doyle whispered, balling the hand that held the dog tags into a fist and pressing it against his forehead.

"Aye, we've all lost a lot of friends in this bloody operation haven't we?" Keith said with a sigh.

Silence fell over the pair, and at first they simply stared at the dark waters of the Rhine. After a time, Doyle broke the silence with a whisper: "if I 'adn't gone to reinforce that 'ill, 'e might still be alive".

"You did what you thought was right" Keith tried to console him, but Doyle shook his head.

"But we lost the 'ill. So what difference does it make?" he continued in a mournful tone as he looked down at the ground, "maybe if Ingram had been here, we might 'ave 'eld it. We might 'ave…"

"Not even Ingram would have been able to save that hill" Keith interrupted Doyle with a protest, "we were outnumbered and outgunned".

Doyle looked over at his Scottish friend, and found himself marveling at how much Keith had changed. He had become a lot more thoughtful less likely to leap before looking since France. It was a very strange change that had come over the corporal.

"I'm promoting you to sergeant again" Doyle announced, causing Keith to look up at him in surprise. James smiled. "Aye, I'll tell whoever I need to, you're a sergeant again".

Keith stood up from the crates and stared at Doyle with a look that the major couldn't quite interpret.

"Sir, I…don't deserve this promotion" he whispered.

"Why not? You're a good leader, and a good soldier. I see no reason why you wouldn't make a good sergeant".

At last, Doyle recognized the look on Keith's face. It was guilt. This surprised the major. What did Keith have to be guilty about?

"What's wrong?" he inquired.

"Nothing" Keith shook his head, and managed a smile, "thank you I suppose".

Doyle patted Keith on the shoulder and saluted him, which the Scott returned, and then the major headed off toward Battalion HQ. Keith watched him go, then leaned back up against the box with a sigh.

There was a battle going on inside the newly promoted sergeant's mind. He was fighting to suppress the memory that had led him to start drinking, the memory that had caused him endless pain since France: the memory of Isabelle DuFontaine's death. Despite his best efforts, it all came flooding back.

Along with the part he had played in it.

* * *

_August 20, 1944. Les Ormes, France._

_The French Resistance, along with Doyle and Keith, had raided several houses in an effort to rescue Major Ingram, who had been captured by German forces. After rescuing their CO, Doyle and Keith had assisted in rescuing other captured Marquis fighters. At one point they had come to a sort of grouping of houses that were built around a courtyard. _

_After freeing the captured French inside, they had come outside to find a formidable German force waiting for them outside. The men had taken cover behind various walls and other cover in order to engage the enemy. At first, the battle seemed to be going in their favor, but then a armored car had arrived and begun hosing the Resistance with MG fire._

"_Cover me, I'll plant explosives on that car" Isabelle had shouted as she leaped over the wall she was taking cover behind and began making her way toward the car slowly. _

_Keith, armed with a Sten, provided covering fire from his position, a small wall a few feet from where Doyle, Ingram, and LaRoche were crouching. Isabelle managed to reach the armored car, and planted an explosive charge on the side. However, Keith, being the impatient type he was, had an idea that would speed things along. _

"_I can shoot the charge from here once the lass gets clear, and that'll make it go off quicker" he thought with a grin._

_He took aim at the small charge through the iron sights of the Sten, and waited until Isabelle had moved off a little. _

"_She's far enough away, do it!" a voice in Keith's mind shouted, and he pulled the trigger. _

_Keith had been wrong. He had always been a hasty, impatient individual, and Isabelle paid the price. The charge went off, sending DuFontaine flying. Keith sat, staring at the young woman's dead body in shock. _

"_SHE WASN'T FAR ENOUGH AWAY! WHAT THE BLOODY HELL WERE YOU THINKING?!" a voice in his mind had screamed at him. _

_Since it was impossible to tell that Keith's shot had set off the charge with all the other gunfire that had been going off at the time, the Scotsman had said nothing, and It was decided that the charge had gone off prematurely. _

_Later, when Marcel, another resistance fighter, was holding Isabelle's body and weeping quietly, Keith, still feeling the strong weight of guilt in his stomach, came over and put a hand on the weeping man's shoulder. _

"_I'm sorry, Marcel" he whispered to the grieving French man, "she was a brave lass". _

_Marcel had stood up, looking into Keith's eyes, "brave as any of you Marquis". _

* * *

Keith gazed at the Rhine, and sighed deeply as eh relived that horrible moment when he had pulled the trigger again and again.

After a few more minutes, he stood up and began walking toward the HQ as well. He stopped and glanced back at the river.

"Forgive me" he whispered, not just to Isabelle, but to Ingram as well.

Then, he headed back to HQ.

* * *

_Well, back to some more Freud. I actually very much enjoyed writing this chapter, and would love to hear some feedback on it, so please remember to **review**. The poll is still open, and will be so until the end of this story so, vote, vote, vote; right now both stories have the same number of votes, and I'm not writing both, so someone must break the deadlock. Happy reading. Cheers. _


	21. Chapter 20

_Hello there. I know I usually don't have messages at the beginning of the story, but I have begun to notice a slump in the reviews, so I just wanted to remind those reading to **please review**. There is another messge at the bottom that is important so please take the time to read it as well. Very good, on with the story. _

* * *

"_It is good that war is so terrible, otherwise we would grow found of it" _–Robert E. Lee

Chapter 20

Black Friday

_December 22, 1944. Near Hemroulle, Belgium. _

Nichols and Huxley were riding in the back of a truck on their way back to the hamlet where the others were waiting. The two had gone to Hemroulle to scrounge for supplies along with a detail of Airborne troops who had gone to Battalion HQ to get food for the men stationed at the hard point. Despite a lack of food inside the besieged perimeter (the weather did not allow the AAF or RAF to make any supply drops) Huxley and Nichols now held several small cans in their hands that they had managed to salvage.

As the truck drove on (albeit slowly due to the poor condition of the road) Nichols suddenly turned to Huxley and spoke.

"We need to talk" was all he said at first.

Huxley merely nodded his head. He had been expecting this. All the day as they headed to Hemroulle and scavenged for supplies, the Southerner had seen the look of anxiousness on his old friend's face and could tell that something was on Jack's mind.

"It's about Guzzo".

"What about him?" Huxley asked with a raised eyebrow.

Nichols said nothing at first, as he struggled for another word to describe what was wrong with Guzzo other than "insane". After a minute or so, he sighed.

"He's just…not right…in the head" the sergeant continued slowly.

"You think he's crazy" Huxley's face showed his skepticism.

"Look, you didn't see him last night! He was talking to someone, but there was no one there, and he was slamming himself up against walls! It was downright perverse" the latter insisted urgently.

Huxley actually grinned, and he looked as if he was going to say something smart-alecky, but he saw the stone serious on Nichols face, and the grin quickly evaporated. Despite being close friends with Guzzo, Leroy was also friends with Nichols, and he saw no lie in the soldier's eyes as he stared at Huxley.

"You saw him doing this shit?"

"Yes, I saw him talking to thin air for God's sake".

Huxley fell quiet as he tried to process this new revelation. Finally, after several minutes of intense thought, he looked back over at Nichols.

"Okay, so what if Guzzo has gone Section Eight? What can we do about it?" he asked.

"We need to talk to him. Get him to tell us what the Hell's going on" Nichols replied resolutely.

"And what if he don't wanna talk?"

"Then we'll figure it out from there, but we can't just do nothing! What if he becomes dangerous?!" Jack hissed rather loudly, causing one of the other soldiers in the truck to glance back at the two G.I.s.

Nichols paused for a moment until the other soldier looked back away from them. When the man had done so, Jack continued in a quieter tone.

"We need to talk to him".

"No, _you_ need to talk to him" Huxley replied.

"What?"

"Look, this is your problem, and frankly I wish you hadn't told me about any of this. You want to talk to him, you go ahead and talk to him, cause I ain't getting involved in this shit" and with that, Huxley turned away from Nichols without another word.

The truck pulled into the Hamlet shortly afterward, and the men unloaded before heading back to their respective squads. Huxley and Nichols entered the house where the others were waiting, and both Kelly and Ballard stood when they entered (Guzzo remained seated on a small crate, and did not look up, or appear to even acknowledge the two's arrival).

"What'd ya'll manage to get?" Ballard asked hopefully.

Huxley threw a small metal can to Ballard and Kelly, before opening one for himself.

"What's this?" Ballard inquired, gesturing toward the can.

"Army rations from 1918. Quartermaster back in Hemroulle claims they edible" Huxley replied, taking a bite of the small, biscuit like thing in the can and wincing, "after you suck on 'em for a couple of hours anyway".

"Is this all you could find?" Kelly said with a sigh.

"You fuckin forage next time, Boot" Huxley replied coldly.

Kelly shot the Louisianan a dirty look, but decided to keep the peace, and simply brooded as he sucked on the rock hard biscuit. At first the group was silent as they attempted to eat the hard tack that had been brought back by Nichols and Huxley.

After a little while, Ballard suddenly let out a laugh.

"What's so funny?" asked Nichols.

"It's 1944, and here we are eating shit that was fresh during the Civil War. We must really be fucked" the latter explained with a shake of his head.

"No, if this was the War Between the States, we'd already be dead" Huxley said with a laugh of his own.

At this, they all laughed (except Guzzo). It was that kind of laugh that you had when everything was so bleak, that laughter was all a person had. And so, they laughed for a few seconds, then fell silent once more. This silence only lasted a few minutes however, as Huxley suddenly began to quietly sing.

"_I wish I was in the land of cotton, old times there is not forgotten, look away, look away, look away, Dixie Land"_ he sang.

"_In Dixie Land where I was born, early on one frosty mornin, look away, look away, look away, Dixie Land" _Ballard began to sing as well, and before long, the two men were singing together like a full on choir group.

"_I wish I was in Dixie, hooray, hooray, in Dixie Land I took my stand, to live and die in Dixie. Oh way, oh way, oh way down south in Dixie"_.

Nichols smiled as the two Southerners sang the song that reminded them so fondly of home, and he too began to sing along. Though he was not singing, even Kelly (who was from Connecticut) was humming along. Only Guzzo remained silent, and Nichols gave him a sideways glance, he remembered Huxley's words.

"_You wanna talk to him; you go ahead and talk to him"._

Jack let out a sigh. If Guzzo was pulled from the front, that would leave him, Sergeant Nicholson, in charge. It was something that Jack wasn't sure he was ready for.

"Best just talk to him first" a voice in Nichols's mind cautioned him, "Just talk to him first".

There was only one problem; Nichols did not know what to say.

* * *

_September 22, 1944. Oosterbeek, Holland. _

Keith sat in what was formerly an apartment building. He had been placed in command of several SAS men by the major, and was tasked with holding the apartment. The Germans had been hitting the perimeter all day, and several had broken through into the city and were fighting from house to house. It was Hell on earth inside the besieged village. However, the well emplaced AT guns inside the village made the Gerrys hesitant about bringing in tanks, so it was only infantry that were fighting their way through the town streets.

The all out assaults on every direction of the perimeter had ceased. Now, the enemy was focusing on certain spots with both counterattacks and artillery strikes (although they would occasionally batter the entire town with a massive artillery barrage at least once a day). This, combined with the Germans use of flamethrowers had filled the air with the scent of burning buildings and burning flesh.

Keith sat behind a Bren LMG overlooking a street. The sounds of gunfire a few blocks down and around a corner told him that the enemy was nearby. Two of the SAS men were talking amongst themselves, and Keith could hear their conversation.

"You hear what they did to the east section?" asked one.

"Aye, they burnt it to the ground, no survivors" the other whispered back.

"That's enough of that. We're the Special Air Service! We'll stand our ground if Gerry brings Jesus Christ himself to battle" the two privates fell silent at Keith's order.

There was a sudden explosion from down the street, drawing the sergeant's attention back to the window. He saw several Grey clad figures run out into the street and take cover behind a destroyed car.

"There's the Bosch! Open Fire!" he shouted, before firing down on the enemy with the Bren.

The Germans hiding behind the car fired back at the building, and they were soon joined by more, who took cover behind a pile of rubble from a house that had taken a direct shell hit. Keith stopped to reload while the other SAS men kept the Germans suppressed.

As he was doing so, he noticed two Krauts, one of which was carrying an MG-42, while the other was lugging a tripod.

"Bring down that MG team!" Keith gestured toward the pair, and several SAS men concentrated their fire on them with their Lee-Enfield rifles.

Despite this, the two Germans managed to get their gun set up behind a half-destroyed wall. There was a loud "bratatatatat" as the MG began to hose the windows of the building in which Keith and the others sat. One of the SAS privates was struck by a bullet, and he fell dead, a chunk of his skull missing.

The other men, including Keith, ducked down as the bullets struck the windows and passed through weaker points in the wall. After about a minute the fire stopped, presumably as the MG reloaded, and Keith looked up through the window.

In the brief few seconds that he was able to see what was going on, Duncan understood why the MG had been brought up. It had been used to suppress the SAS men while a German with a Flammenwerfer 41 got closer to the building. Now, Keith had just enough time to see the Gerry with a large tank on his back, aiming the flamethrower at the windows.

"Hit the floor!" Keith screamed, before falling onto his belly. Most did as he did, but not all. A burst of flame shot in through the window, catching a young private in its path.

The young man (he couldn't have been more than 18) was engulfed in flames, and he fell to the ground completely ablaze. The boy's shrill screams filled the room as he was slowly roasted to death, and even Keith closed his eyes, unwilling to watch the horrific scene.

The smell of burning flesh filled the room, and the boy at last went quiet. Keith opened his eyes and saw the charred body of the young SAS man. Another burst of flame hit the building, and this time the structure itself was catching fire.

"Everyone out, out or you'll all be dead men!" Keith stood and ran for the doorway to the stairwell, and the others swiftly followed him.

They ran downstairs and toward the exit. However, the door suddenly burst open, and two Germans entered. Without pausing, Keith ran right into the first German, knocking the man to the ground. The Scotsman took advantage of the German's disorientation, and took his Gewehr 43 rifle, which he used to shoot the second German in the face.

When this was done, Keith looked back at the three SAS privates, who were staring at the scene in amazement.

"Let's move, c'mon" he shook them out of their catatonic states, and headed out into the street.

The MG was still set up, and it immediately began firing on the retreating British soldiers. Keith took cover behind a burnt-out car, and gestured for the other men to keep going. They did so, and Keith looked back up over the edge of the car. He saw the MG on the wall at the other end of the street, but it wasn't his target.

His target was the German who was retreating with the tank on his back. With the deadly accuracy of a man who spent years hunting with his father back in Scotland, Keith fired a shot at the Flamethrower tank with the Gewehr 43 he had taken. The tank went up in a massive explosion, and Keith grinned triumphantly.

"That pays back many vengeances I'm sure" he thought, as he turned to retreat with the rest of his men deeper into Oosterbeek.

* * *

_December 22, 1__944. Near Hemroulle, Belgium._

It was later that evening when, after their daily mortaring from the Germans, the men in the hamlet settled down for the night. It was snowing again, and the weather was still hindering any sort of supply drops or air support. With the sun already setting, and the overcast sky blocking out the last of the sun's weak rays, darkness came early that evening.

Nichols lay on the hard surface of the floor as he tried to get some sleep. He could hear the sounds of sporadic fighting a few miles away, and tried to imagine what was happening. The men had heard that the enemy had been attacking the perimeter from all sides, but no serious breakthroughs had occurred. As he continued to listen to the sounds of battle, Jack turned and noticed that Guzzo was no longer lying where he had been. He immediately stood up and, as quietly as he could, exited the house out into the snowy night. Fortunately, the snow was not heavy, and Nichols found Guzzo leaning against the wall of the house outside, watching the explosions and gunfire from a battle a few miles off.

The lieutenant was trying to light a cigarette in his mouth, but was having trouble with his lighter. As he continued to ignite it, Nichols approached.

"Having trouble there, sir?" he asked in a jokingly professional tone.

Guzzo glanced up at Nichols and muttered: "damn thing won't work".

Nichols grinned as Guzzo continued to ignite his lighter in vain. After a few seconds, Jack pulled out his own lighter and offered it to his friend. Guzzo nodded appreciatively, but still said nothing as he lit the cigarette.

"Where'd you get the smokes?" Nichols inquired, moving so that he was standing in front of Guzzo.

"Got a pack off this Kraut I killed when we hijacked that Panzer. This is my last one" the latter explained, gesturing toward the cigarette in his mouth.

He took a breath off the small white stick, before holding it out to Nichols, who took it and inhaled from it as well.

"What did you do before…all of this?" Guzzo asked as he took the cigarette back from Nichols.

Jack let out a sigh, exhaling smoke as he did so. "My old man was a veteran of the Great War, so he always ran me kinda hard. I was his only son, so I guess he thought it was his job to "make me a man". Anyway, he had me work a bunch of jobs, Hell, he beat me every day when I was unemployed. Eventually got myself a job on a car assembly line" he explained.

Guzzo laughed.

"Okay smart guy, what did _you _do before the war?" Nichols demanded, his pride a touch hurt.

Guzzo let out another short laugh before taking a hit off the cigarette. "Me, I worked for _my _old man. He owned a radio repair place back in Boston. Pops taught everything he knew about how radios work; it's why they made me a radio man when I got drafted" Sal told his own story with a grimmer and grimmer look on his face, all the while passing the cigarette to Nichols every now and then, "course, then the economy went down the shitter. The business my dad worked his whole life to build went under. He hung himself after that, left me and my mom alone to take care of each other".

There was a moment of silence as Guzzo took a smoke.

"So, why didn't you join up after the war started?" he asked, clearly wanting to change the subject.

"My older brother, Robert, he went into the Marines after Pearl Harbor. He's out in the Pacific right now fighting the Japs, probably. Anyway, my parents figured that Robert was enough for our contribution to the war" Jack stopped to take a smoke before continuing, "guess Uncle Sam thought different, I got a draft notice at the beginning of this year".

Guzzo took the cigarette and took a smoke himself. "So what beach did you land on?" he asked.

"They brought into Cherbourg after the Army secured it. I never on any beaches, St. Lo was my first taste of the fight" was the latter's reply. Then, he looked at Guzzo with a grin, "you said you got drafted? Why didn't _you _sign up?"

Sal let out a scoff, and did not answer, causing Nichols to grin wider. "What were you afraid?"

Guzzo looked at the dark haired Philadelphian with the most serious of expressions, and it wiped the grin clean off Nichols's face.

"Course I was scared, weren't you?" he whispered.

Nichols looked down at the ground, unwilling to meet Guzzo's eyes. There was an especially loud explosion, and a bright light from the battle in the distance, drawing both men's attention back to the spot.

After a minute or so, Nichols spoke up again.

"You ever feel bad about any of 'em?"

"Who?"

"McCullin, Dix, Laughlin".

"McCullin, fuck no" Guzzo said vindictively, then he let out a sigh, "Dix, maybe. Hell, it was my ass he was saving when he got shot. But I guess, the way I see it, he coulda just left me there, then he would still be alive".

"That wasn't Dix's style" Nichols replied quietly.

"I noticed" Guzzo replied, before taking one last puff from the waning cigarette, and handing it to Nichols, "you can have the rest of that".

Then, the lieutenant headed back toward the front door of the house. Nichols stared down at the cigarette, then back up at the retreating Guzzo.

"Sal!" he called after him, and the Bostonian turned to look at him.

Jack struggled to find the words to the question he was burning to ask: "What was wrong with Guzzo's mind?" However, after several seconds of not speaking, and Salvador looking at him expectantly, Jack finally whispered: "I'm sorry about what happened to your old man".

After a few moments silence, Guzzo replied: "me too", then headed back inside the house.

Nichols looked back at the battle in the distance and sighed deeply. He looked back down at the cigarette in his hand once more, which was now nothing more than a stub, and he dropped down onto the snowy ground before looking back out over the firefight on the horizon.

His thoughts turned to the question Guzzo had asked earlier: "Weren't you?"

Jack knew the answer to that. The answer was "yes, of course he was afraid. They all were".

The sergeant sighed, perhaps the deepest sigh he had, and ever would, in his life as he felt the burden of the last few months of his life rest on his shoulders.

"We're all just a bunch of scared guys with guns" he thought, looking out at the lights from the battle beyond.

"Scared guys with guns".

* * *

_Hello folks. I know this chapter seemed rather slow, but it was a very deep one if you know where to look. There's even some symbolism during the conversation between Guzzo and Nichols if anyone cares to try and interpret it. The poll is still open, and will be so until the end of the story. I will once again explain the choices. Justified focuses on Nichols's son during the Vietnam War. Above and Beyond is an alternate history where the Nazi's invade and occupy the U.S. and Nichols as well as other familiar characters fight to resist them. Once again, **I will not write both, so vote for which one you want to see. **Happy reading and please review. Cheers. _


	22. Chapter 21

"_Sanity saves few, madness devours all" _–Brendan McBreen

Chapter 21

Madness devours, sanity saves

_September 23, 1944. Oosterbeek, Holland._

It was almost dead quiet in General Urquhart's HQ near the center of Oosterbeek. Early that morning, all major officers had been ordered to report to the HQ for an emergency meeting with the general. Among these officers was Major Doyle, who stood near the back of the room in silence. There were not that many men in the room itself, Doyle guessed only about eight or nine including himself.

Some of the officers had gathered into small groups and were chatting in such low vices, that Doyle was amazed they could hear one another even at that close a distance. Others were doing as Doyle was, and simply standing around looking anxious and exhausted. They all had reason to be. The perimeter was taking blow after blow, and while it was holding for the most part, the enemy was gaining ground. On top of it all, the divisions' ammo and other supplies were starting to run low.

Suddenly, the door to the room was flung open, and General Urquhart entered. All the lower officers immediately stood at attention and saluted as the general made his way to a table in the center of the room on which a map of the area lay.

"Gentlemen, gather around if you please" Urquhart said after taking up position behind the table.

The officers obeyed, convening around the map, the worry and apprehension showing on all of their faces. At first, Urquhart said nothing, only looking around at the men. After a few seconds, he spoke.

"Gentlemen, I will not start a meeting with something negative, so, to begin with, I will say this; we have held our ground here at Arnhem for the last six days. The XXX Corps was expected to have arrived four days ago, and yet we have held out for four days without any sort of armor support against an enemy that, in all frankness, we are not equipped to fight, gentlemen" the general announced to all present.

There was pause, presumably for emphasis.

"But now, we must be realistic. We have made contact with the forward elements of XXX Corps at Nijmegen and they say that, due to several obstacles and hindrances on the highway from Eindhoven to Nijmegen, the Corps is far behind schedule. We were recently told that it could be another three or more days before the XXX Corps have gathered the strength to advance on Arnhem, especially since we no longer control the bridge or the Driel Ferry".

There were murmurs from the other officers, but Doyle simply continued to stare at the weary, stress worn face of Urquhart.

"Gentlemen" the general's voice was lower now, and Doyle could see that what he had to say next burdened Urquhart greatly, "the fact of the matter is, we cannot hold for three days. Therefore, we have but one choice….we must retreat".

There was an outcry from the officers gathered, but Urquhart silenced them with a raise of his hand, "to say and fight any longer would accomplish not but our own destruction, and that I will not do. I have discussed it with Lieutenant-Colonel Vandeleur over the wireless, and we have decided that evacuation is the only way to save the 1st Parachute Brigade. Vandeleur has assured me that he will discuss the situation with General Horrock and Marshall Montgomery, and will contact me as soon as arrangements have been made for evacuation".

A heavy silence fell over the room when Urquhart finished speaking. Doyle was dumbfounded. While most of the other officers stayed silent, the SAS CO spoke up.

"So that's it then? We're just giving up?" Doyle demanded incredulously.

"To continue to try and fight anymore would be madness, major. We are making a strategic retreat" Urquhart countered in a cold tone.

"What about all the men that 'ave already died?! What about them!? They just died in vain, is that it!?" Doyle's voice was getting louder, and the other officers were staring at him in disbelief.

Urquhart kept his cool as he replied calmly, "there are always losses in any battle, rather it ends in victory or not".

"YOU WOULD SAY THAT WOULDN'T YOU! YOU GOT TO WATCH THOSE MEN DIE FROM YOUR IVORY TOWER! YOU…"

"MAJOR, YOU ARE FORGETTING YOURSELF!" Urquhart finally lost his temper.

The entire room was so quiet that you could have heard a feather drop. Doyle stared defiantly at Urquhart, who looked back with a contemptuous look.

"Major, I agreed to your promotion and appointment as commander of the SAS regiment. I suggest you not make me regret my decision" the general continued in a calm voice once more, "dismissed!"

The officers shuffled around as they made their way out of the room. Only Doyle remained, staring at Urquhart with a furious expression.

"Do you have something to say, _major_?" the general hissed.

"No sir, I offer my humblest apologizes, _sir_" the latter replied through clenched teeth before leaving the room.

Urquhart shook his head as he watched Doyle leave.

"They'll never understand how hard it is being the man in charge" he thought grimly.

* * *

_December 24, 1944. Near Hemroulle, Belgium. _

It had been two days since Guzzo and Nichol's conversation over the cigarette, and the latter still had not been able to find the words to confront Guzzo over his odd behavior three nights ago. Yesterday the Germans had made an attack against the hard point, but it had been short lived and was soon blunted by the AT and MG fire of the Airborne troops (although Nichols had bragged about getting several kills from the top of the house with the sniper rifle he had been given).

Now, the five men all sat inside the living room of the house. It was a little past mid day and, other than the usual mortar strikes, the Germans had been rather quiet.

"What do you suppose they're doin?" Ballard asked aloud what everyone else was probably thinking.

"Probably getting ready for Christmas" Nichols suggested.

It was true, Christmas was tomorrow. The idea of spending the holidays trapped in the besieged perimeter angered Nichols greatly.

"Maybe Gerry would let us go home for the holiday if we promised to come back afterward" he said with a laugh.

"It's already almost Christmas" Kelly whispered. Kelly had been rather quiet the last few days, and Nichols was starting to worry about the young private.

"Yeah, we'll get to exchange gifts" Huxley said in a clearly fake jovial tone as he carried the empty MG ammo canister that the men used as a toilet to an open window, "look Boot, I'm already working on your Christmas present" the Southerner called as he tossed the canister's contents out the window.

Huxley laughed as Nichols shook his head. "Couldn't you show some holiday spirit, and treat Kelly with some respect, Leroy" he sighed.

Huxley only laughed harder as he went back sitting down against one of the walls, cleaning his Trench Gun. Nichols looked over at Guzzo who was sitting in his usual spot staring blankly at the floor.

"What would you be doing right now, if you were back home?" Nichols asked him suddenly.

Guzzo looked at him blankly at first, and then looked up at the ceiling. "Mom would be cooking her ham probably" he said with a sigh, "I'd be trying to get out all the Christmas decoration, course, not that we have too many" now a smile was forming on Guzzo's face as he fondly remembered home.

"My mama would make her stuffed turkey, best stuff turkey on God's green earth" Ballard broke in with a smile of his own, "and after dinner me and my pa would go out and shoot pheasant".

"Mom would be telling us not to touch her pudding" Kelly threw in his memories, "she always made such great pudding".

"This lady on Docker Street, she always gave out biscuits to people who weren't "as fortunate" on Christmas. They was some damn fine biscuits too. You bite into one and it melts in your mouth" Huxley was next.

"We'd all be at the dinner table, dad would give a toast, mom would carve up the ham, Robert would always make a joke about the ham being actually good that year" Nichols remembered his families last Christmas before Robert had gone off to the Pacific.

The five men all smiled fondly, not really paying much attention to each other anymore. They were all back home, sitting at the table with their families and friends, enjoying the Yuletide Season without a care or a worry. It was beautiful, and, for the briefest moment, all five men felt like their old selves again.

Suddenly, the moment was broken by a loud explosion outside, that was swiftly followed by another, and then another.

"Mortars!" screamed a voice.

In an instant, the five G.I.s inside the house were in action mode. They immediately got underneath tables or any other cover they could find as the explosions continued to sound outside.

"This is the third time today! Gerry's got too much time on his hands" Huxley shouted over the din.

All at once, there was an explosion louder than any other they had heard thus far, and a large hole was blown in the roof of the house.

"AAAAAAH!" there came a loud, blood curdling shout, more animal than human. Kelly suddenly jumped up from under his cover, screaming uncontrollably.

"I CAN'T STAND IT! I CAN'T!" he screamed before running outside.

"KELLY, YOU'LL BE KILLED!" Nichols yelled after the insane private before getting up and running outside after him.

Mortars were landing all around the hamlet, and Kelly stood, his arms akimbo, in the middle of the open area screaming, "C'MON TAKE ME!"

Nichols ran at Kelly, and tackled the young private to the ground. The latter fought back hard as Nichols struggled to drag im inside. Ballard came outside and help the sergeant and, before long, they had Kelly back inside.

"What the Hell was that?!" Ballard demanded angrily as Kelly stood up after being released.

"What's it matter they're gonna kill us anyway!" Kelly shrieked as he looked around frantically.

Suddenly, he strode over to where an M1 Garand was leaning against a wall. He picked up the rifle and aimed it at Ballard, who was running at Kelly again after seeing what the crazed man was going for. Everyone in the room froze as Stephen aimed the rifle at Ballard.

"Kelly, listen to me. Just out the gun down alright" Nichols tried to calm the young man.

Huxley stood watching the scene from the other side of the room, and Guzzo was standing just to Kelly's left. It was a tense stand-off.

"Kelly, Ballard and I are just trying to help" Jack insisted.

"It doesn't matter" Kelly whispered, "we're all gonna die anyway".

"Kelly, look at me!" Nichols shouted, and said private turned his gaze to the sergeant.

"We're gonna get out of this, OK? We're gonna…" suddenly, Ballard lunged for his own M1 Garand which was laying on the table behind him. He scooped it up and aimed it at Kelly, who shifted his attention back to the now armed Southerner.

"Drop the rifle you psycho!" Ballard shouted.

"LOOK, WE DON'T NEED THE GUNS!" Nichols shouted.

Kelly looked over at Nichols one last time and whispered, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry".

With that, Stephen fired his M1 Garand. The shot struck Ballard in the shoulder, who cried out in pain before crumpling to the ground. In one swift motion, Guzzo pulled his Colt M1911 from its holster and fired at least four shots at Kelly. Three of them struck the private, who gave his own cry before falling dead.

Nichols stood frozen, looking upon the horrifying scene in absolute shock. Ballard rolled on the floor, moaning in pain, trying to put pressure on the hole in his shoulder where blood was flowing freely. Huxley ran over to Ballard while both Guzzo and Nichols approached the body of Kelly.

Nichols knelt down and felt for a pulse, but there was none to be found. He looked upon at Guzzo who, upon seeing the look in Nichols's eyes, stumbled back from the body and collapsed onto the ground against the wall. Guzzo said nothing, only stared at the Colt in his hand. After a few seconds, he stood up and ran out the door.

"GUZZO!" Nichols called after the lieutenant.

"Nichols, Ballard needs a medic!" Huxley shouted, drawing the sergeant's attention back to the crisis at hand.

"Get one of the Airborne guys to give you a ride into Hemroulle, take Ballard with you" he ordered the private, who nodded before running outside as well (the mortars had finally stopped).

Nichols knelt next to Ballard and placed his hand in the pool of warm liquid that was the wound on the private's shoulder in order to keep the pressure on it.

"I'm sorry, sarge" Ballard whispered.

"Don't be sorry, you did good" Nichols replied, as he stared back at the doorway through which both Huxley and Guzzo had gone.

"You did good".

* * *

_September 23, 1944. Oosterbeek, Holland. _

Doyle sat in the CP for the SAS that had been set up by command. Most of the other officers were off delivering orders or coordinating the defense for the line, so the CP was mostly abandoned except for a radio man and a few NCOs.

The major sat in a separate room at a table that had been set up so he could coordinate the SAS regiment. It felt strange, being in charge and behind a desk. Somehow Ingram had always seemed more suited to it than Doyle. His thoughts of Ingram made James wish that the Major was with him right now; with him to tell him what to do. Somehow he could imagine what Ingram would. He could imagine what it was like to have Ingram with him.

Doyle shut his eyes, and then opened them once more. Major Ingram was seated in the chair in front of him, staring at Doyle with an expressionless face.

"Major, sir" Doyle nodded to his CO.

"_We're both majors now, so there's no need for that, but much obliged all the same"_ Gerald nodded to him appreciatively.

"We've been ordered to retreat. They're pulling us back across the Rhine" Doyle explained dejectedly.

"_Indeed. We've suffered a loss"_ Ingram nodded.

"What should I do, Gerald?" Doyle moaned, the weight of everything finally causing him to cave in, "I can't lead these men, I'm not a leader. Ever since I became leader, everything's gone to pot".

Ingram actually chuckled. _"This whole operation was doomed from the start; I saw cracks in it even before it was put into effect. Trust me, son, the failure of this operation is by no means any fault of your own"_ the major explained.

Doyle shook his head and looked back down at the table with a sigh. "I wish you were hear Gerald" he whispered.

"_Look at me" _Ingram commanded, and Doyle obliged him, _"you can't keep doing this. These men count on you every day. You are the only thing that keeping them from drowning in the darkness. How can you do that if you're too busy drowning in your own?" _

The words cut into Doyle at first. But after a few seconds he realized that there was some wisdom to them.

"So what should I do?" he asked.

"_Lead these men like I know you can. They need someone strong to look up to, especially in the face of defeat. You can do it, James, just have faith"_.

Doyle looked back down at the desk once more. When he looked up again, Ingram was gone. The major let out a sigh, and only stared at the empty seat for a few minutes. After a bit however, he felt his resolve strengthen and he walked over and grabbed up his Sten which was lying on the table out in the command room.

"C'mon lads" he called to the NCOs that were still in the CP,

"We've got a perimeter to hold".

* * *

_December 24, 1944. Near Hemroulle, Belgium._

Guzzo stumbled into the small opening between the house and a smaller building. Once inside the small alley he collapsed onto the snowy ground. At first, the lieutenant could only stare at the Colt in his hand.

"Why God, why?" he thought in anguish, "He was just a kid".

"_Are you finally starting to lighten up, Guzzo?" _the unwelcome voice cut into Salvador's thoughts.

Guzzo closed his eyes tightly, not wanting to look up, knowing full well who would be waiting for him.

"_C'mon, show some balls and look me in face"_.

He looked up and saw the sunken in eyes of McCullin looking down on him.

"Why?" was also Guzzo managed to whisper.

"_Unlike you, Kelly finally figured out that the only way any of you were getting out was death. He tried to do you all the favor that I've been trying ot get you to grant them for the last four days" _McCullin explained with a malicious grin.

"He was just a kid".

"_They all are. So are you. You're all just dumb scared kids". _

"Go away".

"_Well, guess we're gonna have to go through this one more time then. There's only one way out, Guzzo! You know what it is!"_ McCullin was quickly becoming impatient.

"GO AWAY!" Guzzo screamed.

"_Kelly tried to resist, and look what happened. Why won't you just DO it already?!"_

"BECAUSE I WANNA LIVE!" the answer came roaring forth from Guzzo like a waterfall, causing McCullin to go silent.

"I WANNA LIVE! I WANNA GO HOME AND HUG MY MOM! I GET A HOUSE, GET MARRIED, AND START A LIFE! I'VE _EARNED _THAT MUCH!" Guzzo yelled his protest at the top of his lungs.

A heavy silence followed broken, after a few minutes, by McCullin.

"_You wanna live? You think Kelly didn't wanna live? You think Laughlin didn't want to live? Death doesn't give a shit what __you__ want! But since you can't grow the sack to do what should be done, you're just gonna have to watch as they get picked off one-by-one" _the sergeant hissed to the crouching man.

"Fuck you" Guzzo whispered back.

"_And when you're all that's left, you'll beg for death to take you". _

"Fuck you!" Guzzo said again, this time a little louder.

"_And I'll be waiting for you in Hell, Guzzo!" _

"FUCK YOU!" this time Guzzo screamed it before jumping to his feet and firing his Colt at McCullin.

The bullets seemed to pass through the deceased sergeant without hurting him, but Guzzo continued to fire until the gun did nothing but clicked that it was out of ammo. Suddenly, a hand grabbed the gun from Guzzo's hand, and h turned to see who had taken it when a punch was delivered to his jaw.

The lieutenant looked up and saw the horrified face of Nichols looking down on him, the Colt in his left hand.

"What the Hell's the matter with you!" Nichols demanded.

Guzzo said nothing, only looked over where McCullin had been standing. He was no longer there, and so Guzzo shifted his gaze back to Nichols.

"Why?" he whispered.

"What?" Nichols asked, confused.

"They were just kids. Kelly, Ballard, Laughlin, they were just kids. Why would death take them before they even got a chance to live?" the latter continued in a voice that was barely a whisper.

Nichols said nothing at first. He took several deep breaths in an effort to compose himself, then collapsed against the wall across from Guzzo.

"I don't know" he said finally, "I don't think I ever will. But what I do know is that you can't keep doing this, Sal. We need you. Me and Huxley need you. We're all we got left for each other" Nichols said desperately.

Guzzo stared at Jack in silence. After a few seconds he spoke up. "What if Kelly was right, what if the only way we're getting out of this _is _death?" he asked.

"Then I'll be right there to die with you" Nichols stood and lifted Guzzo to his feet before handing him his Colt, "we both will. You're my best friend, Sal, and if you die, then I'll be there to die with you".

They looked into one another's eyes. They had been friends since Normandy. More than friends now, they were brothers. Guzzo managed to smile as he took the Colt form Nichols.

"You better damn well look me up after all of this is over" Guzzo said with a grin.

"You bet I will" the latter replied,

"You bet I will".

* * *

_Hello folks. Well, I hope you like the chapter because this was pretty much the climax of the psychological subplot. Also, before I get any comments about it, no, Guzzo and Nichols are not gay. They are brother's in arms, there is a difference. Anyway, if you haven't voted for the next story yet, I encourage you to do so. This was a very important chapter, so please take the time to review and tell me what you think. Happy reading. Cheers._


	23. Chapter 22

"_When all you gotta keep is strong, move along, move along, like I know you do. Even when your hope is gone, move along, move along, just to make it through" _–_Move along_, All-American Rejects.

Chapter 22

Relentless

_September 24, 1944. Oosterbeek, Holland. _

That next day, Doyle volunteered the SAS to take over the positions of the exhausted 3rd Battalion on the northern sector of the perimeter. The shift was made, and by early afternoon, the men of the SAS had taken up position in the buildings of the northern sector of the town. Though he had not been one to argue about it like Starkey did, Keith had misgivings about Doyle being present on the front lines. Still, the major had insisted.

Now, James, along with Keith and several other men were stationed in the second floor of what was at one point a Flat of some kind. Now, as the quietness of the city was broken once again by the daily artillery barrage, Doyle sat looking out the window at the line which was just before him. Most of the buildings had collapsed from the bombardments, and the major could see all the way to the open Dutch countryside.

"At least we'll be able to see them coming from a mile off" he said aloud what ran through his mind.

"Yes, sir" a corporal who was standing nearby said swiftly and professionally.

The young man had been infatuated with Doyle ever since he had arrived at the flat. The major was probably the highest ranking officer that the corporal had probably ever been in a room with, and it no doubt excited him to be in the company of an officer, and such a well known one in the SAS at that.

Doyle grinned at the sycophantic behavior of the young soldier. Keith grinned about it also, but neither of them said anything. As Doyle continued to stare out the window, he noticed an increase in the volume of shells that was striking the sector. Over the last few days, the Germans had learned that rushing the perimeter was only going to result in more bloodbaths. Therefore, they had taken to coordinating their pushes with artillery strikes against smaller targets, sometimes even individual houses.

Now, seeing the upswing in explosions in the small section of buildings that he had been charged with holding, Doyle turned to Keith.

"They'll be attacking our sector soon" he announced, not just to Keith, but the entire room.

The men only stared back at him in silence. Seeing this, Doyle turned back toward the window and continued to watch the artillery barrage. One of the shells struck a building a few blocks down from the flat, and James watched as it collapsed into dust.

"Just like the rest of this rotten town" he thought bitterly.

After about thirty minutes, the strike ended, and Doyle strode over to a small table where he grabbed his Sten before gesturing the other men in the flat to follow him. The group headed out into the rubble strewn street and began walking briskly toward the front line.

Seeing where they were headed, the corporal spoke up. "Major, sir, do you think you should be so close to the front line?" he asked nervously.

"Ask me that again and I'll be addressing you as 'Private" the latter replied bluntly before picking up speed in his walking.

The corporal, needless to say, shut up quickly.

* * *

_December 25, 1944. Near Hemroulle, Belgium. _

Christmas was normally a joyous affair back home. And, despite their circumstances, the three remaining men in Guzzo's squad tried their best to keep in the Christmas spirit. Upon awakening that morning, the three friends exchanged "gifts".

"Here's your present, Huxley" Nichols tossed a shotgun shell to Huxley who caught it and looked at it briefly, before looking up at Nichols with a clearly fake smile.

"This wouldn't happen to be the shell I noticed was missing from my ammo belt this mornin would it?" he asked rhetorically.

Nichols only grinned back. "Maybe" he replied.

Huxley was not angry about the gift. The defenders of the perimeter around Bastogne were desperately low on supplies, so the idea of a Christmas present from either of his friends was laughable. Nonetheless, he picked up Nichols's helmet and threw it to him saying: "here's you present".

"Awww, just what I always wanted" Nichols said in a mock excited tone, putting his helmet on his head.

"Yeah, well, I got a present for both of you" Guzzo announced, causing both his friends to look at him in surprise.

The lieutenant went over to his pack and dug around in it until he found what he was looking for. It was the can of cherries that he had stolen from Kelly that, against hunger and other things, Guzzo had managed to save. He tossed the metal can to Nichols, who stared down at it in shock.

"You share 'em now" Guzzo said with a smile.

Huxley grabbed the can from Nichols and, after looking down at it, stared at Guzzo with a venomous look.

"You were bitchin at me for stealin Kelly's cherries when _you're _the one that stole 'em!?" the private demanded angrily.

"Yeah, pretty much" Guzzo replied with a shrug, not even bothering to deny it.

Nichols stifled a laugh (albeit not very well) as Huxley stared at Guzzo in shocked disbelief. After a few seconds, the southerner opened his mouth to say something, but seemed to think better of it, and fell into silent brooding.

Guzzo, seeing this, let out a laugh.

"Merry Christmas, Huxley" he said jovially.

* * *

_September24, 1944. Oosterbeek, Holland._

Doyle's group took up residence in a smaller building near the front line. It was so close in fact, that the major could see the open countryside through the front windows of the two story building. They were on the top floor again, since the major wanted a clear view of the open land where the Germans would no doubt be making their push.

He was correct. After only about fifteen minutes of anxious waiting, the cry went up from one of the other buildings.

"Enemy sighted!"

Doyle leaped to the window and caught sight of five massive forms making their way across the field. It was five medium tanks, three Panthers, two Panzer IVs. The three Panther tanks had been lined up side by side, while the two Panzer IVs had been set on either flank of the armored group.

"A classic Panther Kampfgrupper" Doyle thought grimly.

The tank column rolled toward the line swiftly, yet still keeping its shape as it did so. Several shots from PIAT launchers missed the Kampfgrupper as it neared the buildings. The infantry were not far behind, as the green camo-clad figures ran only a few yards behind the tanks. It was a full assault.

"Corporal, get that PIAT launcher and start firing at those tanks!" Doyle shouted to the young man, who nodded before picking up a PIAT AT launcher from the corner and going to the window to fire.

"The rest of you lay suppressing fire on Gerry!"

The men obeyed, and took up positions on the windows, guns at the ready. The corporal took a shot at one of the Panthers, which struck the earth just in front of the armored monster. The man reloaded and tried again, but this time he over shot the target. Doyle ran out of patience.

"Keith, get on the PIAT and tank down those bloody tanks!" he shouted to the sergeant, who nodded and took the launcher from the embarrassed corporal.

Doyle leaned out the window on the far left and fired several shots from his Sten at the advancing Wehrmacht troops down below. His reward was one of the Panther tanks firing its MG at the window, causing the major to fall backward to avoid the hail of bullets.

"Keith, why bloody hell are those tanks still active!?" Doyle screamed.

"I'm trying major, but they're moving pretty fast!" the latter shouted back, as he loaded in the last rocket that was in the building into the PIAT launcher.

He fired it and, this time, he was lucky. The rocket flew at one of the Panther tanks, striking its front tread. The belt burst, causing the monster machine to halt in its tracks, unable to move any further.

"That's one down !" the Scotsman reported, "but we're all out of rockets".

Suddenly, as they drew near, one of the remaining Panther tanks fired at the building. The explosion that followed knocked Doyle off his feet, and dazed him momentarily. When he had regained his senses, he noticed a large hole where the windows facing the line had been. The major stood briefly when a shout sounded.

"Major, look out!" the young corporal rammed into Doyle, knocking him back to the floor just as the Panther fired its MG into the hole in the building.

The corporal was struck by several bullets and collapsed dead. Doyle stared in shock at the blood covered, lifeless face of his savoir, who lay on the floor next to him, staring at the major with lifeless eyes. After gazing at the young, blood soaked face; Doyle got shakily to his feet and moved closer to the hole.

Outside the situation was frantic; the enemy was advancing on the buildings and sandbag barricades that had been set up along the outskirts of the city. The four remaining tanks were skirting the line, firing upon it to allow the infantry to breach it more easily.

Seeing this, Doyle quickly turned and headed toward the door leading back to the stairwell.

"C'mon lads, we 'ave to get down there and stabilize the situation!" he ordered his squad. The three remaining men including Keith nodded.

As they were about to leave, Doyle halted and turned back toward the room.

"Someone get that lad's tags" he ordered, gesturing toward the dead corporal.

Outside was a picture of hell. Men were retreating under tank fire as the Germans began to push into the town. The perimeter was failing. Doyle led the way over to a sand bag barricade where two SAS men were awaiting the enemy armor.

"Present from the Yanks" said one of them, gesturing to an M1A1 Bazooka launcher that was sitting next to him, "a touch more reliable than that PIAT excuse for an AT launcher".

Suddenly, a group of men ran around the corner just down the street. They were pursued by a Panzer IV which cut them down with its MG. Seeing the tank, Doyle held out his hands to the private with the Bazooka.

"Give me the launcher" he ordered the soldier.

Though the private looked a bit hacked off about the order he did not dare question an officer, and thus handed the Bazooka over to Doyle. As the Panzer rolled closer to the checkpoint, Doyle aimed at the behemoth's right tread. The turret of the tank swiveled and the gun barrel aimed at their position.

"Hurry, sir" one of the men urged Doyle, but he continued to line up the sights.

The tanks drew closer and halted, its gun still trained on the barricade.

"Doyle!" Keith shouted.

"BOOOM!" James fired the rocket at the tank, which struck its left tread. The section was blown away, casing a chain reaction that caused the turret of the tank to blow off the top.

The men gave a cheer of victory that was cut short by fire from enemy infantry who were making their way up the street. The SAS men returned fire, along with Doyle, who got at least two kills before the group of Germans retreated down the street.

Though he was at first certain that he and his men had triumphed, Doyle's face quickly fell when the Germans came back around the corner, this time with a Panther Tank in support.

"Next rocket!" he shouted, and a private handed him a Bazooka rocket, which he loaded into the tube before standing up and aiming it at the Panther.

"Let's dance with the Devil mate" he thought as he squeezed the trigger.

The Bazooka fired….

* * *

_December 25, 1944. Near Hemroulle, Belgium. _

The sounds of tank fire announced the assault even before someone had shouted "the Krauts are attacking!"

It had been assumed that the enemy wouldn't launch any assaults on Christmas, so the men were almost completely unprepared for the attack. Hearing the shouts, Nichols had run outside to see the situation himself. When he could see nothing from his position, he had climbed to the roof of the barn as he had done with the Airborne man the previous day.

Upon reaching the roof, he managed to see the advancing enemy. Multiple tanks were rolling across the open countryside. And so many infantry followed behind them that the whole snow covered field seemed to be alive and writhing.

"Holy shit" Nichols whispered as he stared at the onslaught that was swiftly making its way toward, not only his hard point, but other areas all across the field.

After a few more minutes of staring, the sergeant yanked back the bolt on his Springfield to make sure there was a round in the chamber. When he saw that there was, he closed the bolt and aimed through the scope at the sea of Germans.

The AT gun inside the barn started to fire on the advancing mixture of Panzer IIIs, Panzer IVs, and even Panthers. Nichols felt the vibrations in the roof of the barn every time the M7 was fired. Despite this, his concentration did not falter as he fired a shot at one of the Germans who was riding atop a Panzer III.

The bullet (with Nichols's added calculations for bullet drop) flew straight and true into the Krauts head, causing a shower of sparks as it penetrated the man's steel helmet. A fountain of red burst from the hole, and the man fell from the tank, dead.

Nichols smiled at the shot, before bolting the rifle to load in a new round. He aimed once again, this time at a Germans who was running a few feet behind one of the tanks. Though this time he had to compensate for both bullet drop and the fact his target was moving, Nichols fired and was once more successful in hitting his target. The Germans clutched his torso before falling to the ground.

After bolting in another round, Nichols aimed this time at one of the tanks. The Panzer IVs and Panthers had their gas tanks in the back, so shooting the vital point was impossible. However, the gas tanks on the Panzer IIIs were on the sides, therefore allowing a more plausible shot. In order to hit the vital point, Nichols would have to shoot the bullet close enough that it skimmed into the gas cap and ignited the gas tank.

It was a shot that even an elite sniper would have problems making, let alone an inexperienced one like Nichols. Nonetheless, Jack's keen eyes did not fail him as he positioned his crosshairs a few feet in front of the tank where he believed the gas cap would be when the bullet reached the spot. He fired.

Nichols was a good sniper, but not a phenomenal one. The bullet missed its mark, ricocheting off the armored plating of the tank as it sped along toward the hamlet. The volume of tanks was too much for the one M7 in the barn to keep up with, so many of them were able to skirt the AT fire and had moved very close to the hard point. The MG fire from the Airborne troops was attempting to keep the enemy infantry at bay, but the two Browning .30 cal. Machine guns were also being overwhelmed.

Also, Nichols had disobeyed one of the key rules of sniping: relocate after at the most, every two shots. A soldier on the ground had noted the flash of his scope and of the gun firing, and communicated his location to one of the tanks. A Panther that was only a few yards from the barn, suddenly fired at the roof, causing a massive explosion that not only ripped a massive hole in the roof, but also sent Nichols flying off of it.

Guzzo, who was standing just outside the house, watched in horror as his friend was thrown from the roof into a pile of rubble that had gathered on the side of the building. Nichols lost consciousness briefly. When he regained it, he found himself in complete and utter darkness with the feeling of something heavy being on top of him. He could not move because of this weight, so he simply sat in the blackness wondering if he was dead.

"God, how did I get here? I could have been home with mom and dad having a Christmas Dinner! Instead I'm probably laying dead in the snow in some shit hole village that no one I know has ever heard of" he thought bitterly, a tear actually forming in his eyes.

A sharp pain radiated through his left leg suddenly, and he screamed as it intensified. Tears were now falling from his eyes as he struggled to move, but found he could not.

"How did I get here?" he asked himself again, and this time, a voice answered.

"_Because you would not run from the draft"_ it replied bluntly, _"so a better question would be, why did you not run from the draft as your parents had whished you to?"_

Why had he not run from the draft?

Nichols knew the answer to that…

* * *

_December 27, 1941. Philadelphia, U.S.A._

_Robert was up early packing things into a bag. His bus to Camp Pendleton left at 0600 hours, and he did not want to be late. Only days after that attack on Pearl Harbor, Robert had rushed off to the nearest enlistment center. The young man had figured that if he was going to fight, he would be better off fighting with the best there was, so he joined the Marine Corps. Now, here he was, only hours from being shipped out and becoming a warrior like the sergeant who had processed him at the enlistment center. _

_As he was loading everything in his bag, Robert heard his bedroom door open. He turned, expecting to see the tear stained face of his mother, but instead, his younger brother Jack stood in the doorway. _

"_You're leaving then?" his sibling said quietly. _

"_Yep, shipping out an hour" the latter muttered, packing the last of his things and closing up his bag. _

_Robert turned to face his brother with an almost pleading look. _

"_Come with me" he suggested for what felt to Jack like the hundredth time. _

"_C'mon, Rob, we already talked about this" he replied solemnly. _

"_You could enlist tomorrow, be sent right out after me. Hell, who knows, we could end up in a squad together" Robert persisted. _

"_I already told you, I'm not gonna do it" Jack replied firmly. _

_Robert let out a scoff and the pleading look on his face turned to one of disgust. "Cousin Will died at Pearl Harbor you know. Don't you wanna make those Jap sons a bitches pay that?" he demanded angrily. _

"_Look, I was sad about Will to, but it ain't worth dying over" the latter shot back. _

_Robert stared at his younger brother in shock. "Well" he said slowly after a minute or so, "I think it is. But if you wanna stay here and hear about the war on the radio you do that. As for me, I ain't no fucking coward" and with that, Robert stormed past Jack out of is room into the hallway. _

"_ROB!" Jack called after his brother, but the elder sibling ignored his brother's calls. _

"_I'm not a coward" Jack whispered after his brother, "I'm not a coward". _

* * *

Nichols opened his eyes after recalling the painful memory of he and his brother's last conversation before Robert had left for the Pacific.

"_Your brother's word ate away at you. After he left, his words ate away at you until you were drafted. And it was because of Robert's words that you could not find the strength to run from the draft" _the voice summarized the entire memory, causing Nichols to begin to weep again.

"I'm not a coward" he whispered desperately.

"_So you would get yourself killed to prove you are brave?" _the voice chided him.

"Oh God, I died in Christmas" the realization hit Nichols, and he moaned it out through another wave of tears.

"_Have courage soldier" _the voice sounded as though it was fading, and Nichols felt some of the weight that was holding him down begin to lift, _"your time has not come yet"_.

A burst of light suddenly blinded Nichols, and he closed his eyes.

"Nichols, thank God" Guzzo's voice sounded, and Jack opened his eyes to see the lieutenant digging him out of a pile of rubble.

"We thought you was dead" Huxley's voice sounded also.

Nichols identified the cause of the sharp pain in his leg as Guzzo and Huxley dug him out of the rubble that had buried him. A long, thick piece of wooden beam had stabbed into his left thigh. Guzzo saw this too and looked at him with a concerned expression.

"The Airborne is abandoning this hard point" he explained, "We have to get you on one of those trucks so we can get you back to Bastogne for medical attention".

The two men lifted their wounded comrade from the rubble pile, causing Nichols a grunt of pain, but they carried him nonetheless to a Deuce-and-a-half truck which soon began speeding away from the hamlet. Nichols gave the hard point one last glance as they drove off.

"We're retreating" he thought vaguely,

"and Gerry is right behind us".

* * *

_Hello folks. I know a lot of you have been craving a lot more action lately, and I promise, there is plenty of it in the next chapter, but for this one, I wanted to give you one last look into Nichols's motivations. Anyway, we have only three more chapters to go with this story (its been a long road hasn't it?), if you have not already voted for the next CoD story, I stongly urge you to do so soon. Happy reading. Cheers. _


	24. Chapter 23

"_And when he gets to Heaven, to Saint Peter he will tell; one more soldier reporting in, sir. I've served my time in Hell!" _–The Soldier's Poem

Chapter 23

No sacrifice, no victory

_September 25, 1944. Oosterbeek, Holland. _

The day of September 25 was the day of evacuation for the Paratroopers at Oosterbeek. After much negotiation, Urquhart had arranged for the XXX Corps to send several boats across the Rhine to the small sliver of the river that the 1st Paratroop Brigade still controlled. Now, the Brigade had been ordered to pull back to the shores of the river to prepare for evacuation.

Doyle had practically seen red at the order. After a Hellish day of fighting (as well as some lucky shot s with the Bazooka) the major had managed to stabilize the northern sector of the perimeter. Now, only hours after getting the situation under control, he had been ordered to pull the SAS back to the river.

"We busted out arses to keep this perimeter stable, and now they want us to pull back?" he had thought angrily.

However, after thinking about the situation a little longer, the major realized that the evacuation was the wiser choice. The attack yesterday had nearly breached the perimeter, and Doyle was sure the men would not be able to beat off another major push like that. So, the SAS had retreated to the river along with the rest of the Brigade.

Unfortunately, despite employing every ruse they knew, the Paratroopers retreat did not go unnoticed. The Germans had moved into Oosterbeek, and were now in pursuit of the retreating British. Upon reaching the evacuation point, Urquhart had ordered the men to establish a temporary blocking line in order to hold off any German attacks while the evacuation was underway.

So, Doyle along with Keith and the rest of the SAS were singled up on a line of sandbags that faced the smoking town of Oosterbeek.

"We held out there for almost five days" Keith muttered as he stared at the burning village.

"Aye, and now we're giving it up. Market Garden is a failure" Doyle replied bitterly.

The weather did not improve his mood. It had been overcast for most of the day as they had retreated. Now, as they were sitting awaiting the evac boats, the clouds finally released their cargo. Rain was pouring down on the small pocket of Paratroopers relentlessly.

Just then, there came a shout from the river. A few minutes later, word spread up and down the line. The first of the boats had arrived. General Urquhart and the other top Brass would be evacuating first.

Even through the thick rain, Doyle could see the dim outlines of the boats as they began to slowly cross the river toward the safety of the opposite bank. He was not the only one who saw the boats however. There was a shrill whistling followed by explosions that erupted throughout the river.

German artillery spotters had also seen the boats, and had communicated the information to the nearby 150mm guns that the enemy had been hitting Oosterbeek with the last five days. The boats continued across the Rhine in spite of the shells that were landing all around them.

Doyle, like so many others was busy watching the boats struggling to make it across the rain pounded river that he failed to notice what was going on behind him. Suddenly, a sharp whizzing noise sounded near him, and he turned to see enemy soldiers were approaching from a small set of trees that was between Oosterbeek and the evacuation sight.

"Incoming, open fire!" the major shouted, and Keith quickly hopped on a Browning .30 cal. That was set up at their position.

"This is it" the major thought as he watched the enemy advance toward the line, "we fight or we die".

Then, he shouted the order:

"FIRE AT WILL!"

* * *

_December 25, 1944. Hemroulle, Belgium. _

To their credit, the men defending the hamlet that Guzzo and his squad had been positioned in were not the only ones caught off guard by the German attack that Christmas. All over the western edge of the perimeter, positions were overrun, and men retreated back toward Hemroulle, back toward the battalion HQ. The perimeter had been breached!

Now, after being raced back to Hemroulle in the truck with the Germans in close pursuit, the three men sat near the truck, Nichols leaning on his good leg, while Guzzo tried to flag down someone to give Jack a ride to Bastogne.

"Give him a ride?!" a soldier asked in disbelief, "the Krauts are almost here, we can't send anyone out right now".

"But he's wounded" the latter had argued.

"So are other guys, but they ain't gettin a ride neither" the soldier had replied sharply before hurrying off.

Guzzo finally gave up, and walked back over to Nichols and Huxley.

"No one's gonna give him a ride. We just gotta wait" he sighed.

"Wait? Gerrys on the way here and you want us to wait?!" Huxley demanded incredulously.

"What choice do we have? We can't leave. Here, we'll take Nichols to the HQ, they're gathering wounded there" Guzzo suggested, and he moved toward the wounded sergeant.

"No" Nichols said suddenly, backing away from Guzzo, "I'm staying, I'll help you fight. It's just my leg, I can still shoot" he insisted.

"Nichols no, you need to get some sort of medical attention" Guzzo argued, gesturing toward the bandage that had been wrapped around the hole in Jack's thigh, which was stained red with blood.

"I'm not just gonna lie in some hospital waiting for Gerry to overrun the place and cut my throat!" the latter shot back with determination.

Guzzo opened his mouth to argue some more, but seeing the look of defiance in Nichols's eyes, he decided it would be useless to fight it, and only nodded in defeat. He then turned and headed toward the forward sector of the town.

Nichols prepared to follow, when he felt Huxley tap him on the shoulder. Turning he found the Southerner holding out his Springfield rifle to him with a grin.

"Figured you'd want this back" said Leroy.

Nichols took the rifle with an appreciative nod, then the two of them headed after Guzzo (Nichols as fast as he could on his injured leg).

The battle for Bastogne was coming to a climax.

* * *

_September 25, 1944. Oosterbeek, Holland. _

Doyle and the rest of the men on the defensive line defending the evacuation sight continued to blunt multiple enemy pushes toward the position. Meanwhile, as the evening progressed, more and more men were pulled away from the front line and evacuated. While this meant that more men were safely across the river, it also meant that there were less men on the defensive line.

Now, the Germans were making another push on the line and, while all the Brownings were still manned, the lessening in the volume if defensive fire was showing. The Germans were managing to get closer to the line. After the evacuation of 3rd Battalion, that only left the 14th Battalion and the SAS on the line.

Keith continued to cut down as many enemy soldiers as he could on the MG, while Doyle fired away from a position near the MG with his Sten. Several Germans moved up behind a destroyed truck of some kind, and began firing on Keith with MP40s. Seeing this, Doyle laid down his own suppressing fire on the enemy group.

"If they're focusing suppressing fire on the MG, then that can only mean they plan to hit this section hard" he thought.

Sure enough, a large group of Waffen SS soldiers began to focus their efforts on the MG position. As if that wasn't bad enough, Keith had paused to reload, but now, the MG fire was still not back up as the enemies advanced on the spot.

"Keith, keep them suppressed!" Doyle shouted to the Scotsman, who was pulling on the bolt of the MG furiously.

"I can't sir, she's jammed" the sergeant shouted back.

Doyle moved over to the MG and tossed Keith a small metal hook like instrument. It was a jammer pin, used to help un-jam MGs.

"Urry" Doyle shouted as he laid down fire on the approaching enemy with his Sten.

Soon however, James had to reload, and he paused to do so. The enemy saw this and a group of five Germans ran at the MG position screaming. Doyle fumbled as he tried to get a new clip in his Sten in order to counter the rush. The enemies got so close that Doyle could see the one in front's light blue eyes.

However, a sudden "click" was heard from the MG, and Keith yanked back in the bolt before letting loose a flurry of bullets. The five attacking Krauts were all struck by the wave of lead, and they fell, either dead or wounded.

Doyle managed to get a new clip in his SMG and fired as well, although most of the attackers had already been cut down by Keith's MG fire.

"Well done, sergeant" he called over the din, and Keith grinned back at him.

However, Doyle's congratulations were perhaps a bit premature. There was the sound of an engine, followed by a halftrack that sped around the clump of trees, and halted a few yards from the line. The MG-42 inside the vehicle began to hose the line as it dropped off at least ten more Germans.

"Oh Blood Hell" Doyle shouted as he and Keith, along with other men n the line, focused their fire on the armored vehicle, but to no avail.

As if matters couldn't get any worse, the call went up and down the line: "14th Battalion for evacuation!"

Men began to fee from the line, more in panic than anything else toward the boats.

"Bloody idiots! What good is evacuating if the Gerrys overrun the place before they can do it!" Doyle shouted as he watched men abandon MG positions.

"Heads down lads" a SAS radio operator shouted suddenly.

Shortly afterward, there some whistles, announcing the arrival of artillery support from the XXX Corps, which focused on the half track, blowing it to pieces. Seeing that the main threat was now vanquished, Doyle ordered the remaining SAS men to take up the abandoned MGs and keep the enemy suppressed as best they could.

They strategy worked as the enemy, now wary of artillery strikes, began to attack in smaller waves. However, another problem confronted Doyle when, at long last, the cry went up along the line: "SAS to evacuate, now!"

Doyle looked back at a large group of Germans that was approaching the line. Keith saw the too, and gestured for Doyle to go.

"You go sir, I'll stay here and keep them off your arses" the Scotsman shouted.

"I'm not leaving you 'ere" the latter argued.

"I'll be on the next set of boats, I promise" Keith shouted back, still firing at the enemy.

"Keith…."

"Sir, you have to go, NOW!"

Doyle fell silent for a moment. "You better be on that boat, sergeant" he said in a tone that made it sound like an order.

"I will, sir" Keith replied with an assuring nod, "now hurry".

Doyle stood up and followed several other SAS men to the landing spot, where five rubber boats were awaiting them. Doyle waited until the last man had gotten into the boat he had selected, and then helped push the boat away from shore and out into the river before leaping in himself.

The Germans were still pounding the river with artillery. Still, despite this, Doyle moved through the crowded vessel as best he could until he reached the lieutenant in charge.

"Lieutenant, when do the next set of boats arrive?" he asked, trying to gage when Keith would be able to pull back.

"This is the last the of boats, sir, there are no more" the lieutenant answered in surprise.

The words cut into Doyle like a knife, and at first he said nothing, he only stared at the man in shock.

After several long seconds, Doyle finally managed a rational thought, which he muttered aloud.

"Oh God, Keith".

In one swift motion, the major fought his way to the back of the boat, and prepared to jump into the waters of the Rhine. Several SAS men noticed this and grabbed the major, pulling him to the floor of the boat as he screamed over and over again: "KEITH, NOOOO, KEITH".

Suddenly, he was spun around and found himself looking up at the lieutenant.

"Sorry major" the officer apologized before slugging Doyle across the jaw.

Blackness closed in around Doyle, and the last thought he before slipping into unconsciousness was: "Keith lied, he lied".

Then, there was nothing.

* * *

_December 25, 1944. Hemroulle, Belgium._

Guzzo, Nichols, and Huxley all sat in the third floor of an apartment building of sorts that looked out over a large street that ran through Hemroulle. The enemy had indeed reached the city. The sounds of fighting could be heard only a few blocks away, and it seemed to be drawing steadily closer.

Huxley looked over at Nichols who was lying against a fall, tenderly feeling the wound on his leg and wincing.

"How's the leg?" the Louisianan asked with concern.

"I don't know" Nichols replied with a shake of his head.

"You really should get it looked at" Guzzo broke in.

"We've already talked about this" the latter hissed back, and Guzzo shut up about it.

"I'm a lieutenant now, he's just a sergeant. I could order him to go to the hospital" Sal thought to himself, but he decided against it.

His chain of thought was interrupted by a loud nearby explosion, followed by several shouts from outside. Guzzo ran to one of the windows in time to witness several soldiers retreating down the road pursued by the white-clad German soldiers.

"Oh shit, we got company" he announced before taking up an M1 Garand and firing down on the Germans in the street.

Nichols stood, using his rifle to support himself as best he could before hobbling over to the window next to Guzzo's. He too began to fire down on the Germans, who began to take cover as they exchanged fire with the Americans down in the street. Other soldiers were also firing upon the enemy from windows in buildings all along the road. The Heer infantry were effectively pinned down.

At first, this made Guzzo feel certain that they would be able to keep the enemy at bay, but his hopes were immediately crushed when a rumbling noise announced the arrival of a massive tank, unlike one he had ever seen before that rolled around the corner and into the street just behind the in-cover German infantry.

"KING TIGER!" the shout made Guzzo's stomach drop to the floor.

He had heard stories about the Tiger II tank. It armor was supposed to be impenetrable. Its firepower was supposedly unmatched by any other tank in the world. In other words, it was the perfect killing machine, and Guzzo now stared at one that was only a few blocks from him.

The monster tank rolled up the street slowly, rotating it turret and firing rounds into buildings where fire was being laid down from. As it came closer and closer to the building in which Nichols, Guzzo, and Huxley were stationed, Huxley turned to his CO with a worried expression.

"That things gonna level this place! We gotta pull back!" the southerner insisted.

Guzzo shook his head, "Battalion HQ is literally only a few blocks from here. We pull back, and we lose this town. No, we can't pull back".

"Well, we can't just sit here and wait for it to blow us to pieces" Nichols exclaimed, urgency in his voice, "we have to destroy it or something".

"How? We don't have any AT weapons" Guzzo pointed out.

"We got something else though" Huxley explained, reaching into his pack and pulling out a demolition charge, "bagged it from a demo crew back in Camp Cullman".

Nichols actually grinned. "Huxley you magnificent bastard".

"No way Leroy" Guzzo objected, "you gotta get close enough to the tank to plant it, and there's Gerrys all over the place out there, you'll be killed".

"Look, Nichols can't do shit with his leg all messed up, and I'm the smaller of us between you and me. I got the best chance of coming back out of all of us" the latter argued.

Guzzo realized that Huxley was right, and he simply looked down at the floor in defeat. Seeing this, Huxley went over to where his Trench Gun was leaning against a wall, and he began to load it.

As he was doing so, Nichols continued to watch the King Tiger roll u the snow covered street, blowing holes in buildings as it went. He was still doing this when he heard Guzzo mutter: "234 Milton Avenue".

"Huh?" Nichols asked absentmindedly, still focusing on the tank.

"234 Milton Avenue, that's where my mother lives in Boston. Will you remember that?" the latter repeated in a quiet voice.

"Yeah, sure" Nichols replied in a distracted tone. Suddenly, the strangeness of the request stuck him and turned to Guzzo. "Wait, why?"

Sal was gone, and Nichols had turned just in time to see him disappear down the stairs.

"Where's he goin?" Huxley asked confused.

Nichols said nothing as the true realization as to Guzzo's odd behavior hit him. He looked over where Huxley had set down the demo charge and saw that it was, as he feared, gone.

"Oh God" Jack whispered as he turned to look back out the window.

Guzzo was out in the street charging toward a section of wall that jutted out from a nearby building. He reached in despite the hail of bullets from both German infantry and the MG in the hull of the King Tiger flying at him.

The lieutenant halted to catch his breath, and fired several rounds at the enemy from around the corner of the wall. He did so until the M1 Garand let out a "ping" and ejected its empty clip.

Seeing this, and realizing he had no extra clips, Guzzo threw the rifle on the round, then made a mad dash for a smaller wall that was only a few feet from the tank. He was literally only inches from cover when it suddenly left like someone had punched him in his lower gut. The sensation caused him to fall to the ground, and he clutched a spot in his lower torso that was now radiating with pain.

His hand felt warm, and he pulled it away and looked at I, only to find it covered in blood; his blood. Using what strength he had left, Guzzo crawled the rest of the way to the small wall and lay against it, breathing hard and groaning at the pain from his wound. He looked down and saw that blood was gushing from it and that he had left a trail of red in the snow all the way to wall.

Guzzo let out another moan of pain and shifted his gaze upward to the floor of the building where Nichols and Huxley were hunkered down. Suddenly, there was a loud rumbling noise, and Guzzo looked to his right to see the King Tiger advancing up the road. It halted so that the front half was just past the small wall where he now lay.

Fortunately, the tank was too busy focusing fire on the surrounding structures, and the infantry stayed behind it, so no one spotted the wounded Guzzo. Salvador turned his attention back to the building ahead. To his horror, he saw McCullin standing over him, a grin on his face.

"_I told you, you were gonna die, Guzzo. And now you get to watch them die as well" _the sergeant gestured toward the building where Nichols and Huxley resided.

Guzzo clenched his teeth tightly and hiss back defiantly, "_NO_, you can't have them".

Ignoring the pain in his abdomen, Guzzo began crawling across the street toward the front of the King Tiger. Several Germans took shots at him, and he looked over at one in time to see him get shot in the head and fall dead. Guzzo looked back at the front building and saw Nichols with his sniper rifle covering the wounded lieutenant as he advanced.

Guzzo crawled until he was in the small section in the front of the tank where it curved under the front armor and managed to squeeze under the small space. He was now as far underneath the tank as he could go, and he silently prayed it didn't move forward any as he took the demolition charge from his pack and stuck it to the monster armor's one week spot: its bottom. He then reached into his pack for the fuse, but it was nowhere to be found. After desperately looking for the small, pencil shaped component, Guzzo finally gave up, realizing that he must have dropped it sometime while shifting cover.

At first, he did not know what to do and could only sit in anguish at having failed. Suddenly, he became aware of another pain. This one was the feeling of something digging into his back. He reached behind and pulled out his Colt M1911 pistol which he still had on his belt. Guzzo stared at the weapon, and let out a laugh as he realized at last what he had to do.

He aimed the gun's barrel at the charge above him, bringing it so close that the barrel itself actually touched the yellow frame of the explosive.

"_So this is it then? You're gonna kill yourself" _the voice of McCullin chastised him.

"I'm saving their lives" Guzzo muttered back.

"_Yeah, but your still gonna die"_ McCullin reminded him.

"Yeah, I am" Sal said quietly as he shut his eyes.

In his last moments, he tried to imagine his mom's house. The leaves on the trees in the front yard blowing softy in the wind. He imagined himself walking up to the small black gate which he opened and began walking up to the front door, dressed in his dress uniform. The door to the house opened and his mother, a petit woman with brown hair came outside, tears in her eyes as she embraced her son. They cried together, his mother thanking God that her son had returned home safely to her. He would tell her how much he had missed her, how much he had thought of her during the war.

Mother and son stood in the front lawn embracing as tears fell from their eyes, the leaves gently rustling in the wind, the warm sun beaming down on them. Each relived the see the other, each thanking God.

"I'm home, mom" Guzzo whispered through his tears, "I'm home".

"I'm home" Guzzo whispered one more time before opening his eyes once again.

To his surprise, McCullin was not standing over him, but Kelly. The young private knelt down and put a comforting hand on Sal's shoulder.

_"You can go now, Guzzo"_ he said calmly.

The latter smiled as more tears leaked from his eyes, and he let out a sob before closing his eyes one last time. Then, he gently squeezed the trigger.

A massive explosion engulfed the front of the Tiger Tank where Guzzo had been laying. Seeing this, Nichols had given a great shout: "NOOOOO!"

The tank itself was effectively immobilized, and another explosion followed, causing the metal behemoth to fly back ward a bit. Seeing this, other soldier began to cheer, and fire down on the retreating German infantry.

Nichols did not hear the yells of triumph from the other soldiers as both he and Huxley stared at the flaming tank in shock.

"Guzzo" Nichols whispered desperately, but to no avail.

For Salvador Guzzo, the war was over.

* * *

_Wow, I actually teared up at that last bit there :'(. Well, we have only two chapters left. How did you lot like this chapter. Pretty intense wasn't it? Anyway **please remeber to review, and we'll see if we can hit 60 reviews before the end of the story. **Besides that, if you haven't voted for the next story, please do so. Happy reading. Cheers._


	25. Chapter 24

"_It is foolish and wrong to mourn the men who died. Rather, we should thank God such men lived" _–General George Patton

Chapter 24

Better men

_September 26, 1944. Driel, Holland. _

The evacuation of the 1st Parachute Brigade from Arnhem was a moderate success. Most of the paratroopers had been withdrawn to the allied controlled territory beyond the Rhine, except for about 300 men who were left behind to be either killed or taken prisoner. Now, the remainder of the SAS regiment that had dropped into Arnhem had been brought to Driel, and was set to move out back down Hell's Highway to Eindhoven, and then France.

Now however, the regiment commander Major Doyle sat on a small crate staring across the Rhine at the city of Arnhem where columns of smoke could still be seen rising into the now clear blue sky. All Doyle could think about was Keith. How Keith had looked him in the face and promised him he would be on the next boat, knowing full well there would be no other boats.

Doyle could only imagine Ingram's response to such a thing, and he closed his eyes tightly, trying to imagine what Ingram might have said. Suddenly, he felt a hand on his shoulder, and he opened his eyes to see Major Ingram sitting on a barrel next to his crate, a look of sympathy on his face.

James sighed and looked back across the river. "He's dead isn't he?" he whispered.

"Most likely" Ingram replied sadly with a nod.

There was a silence during which Doyle could only stare at the smoking city; the city that they had come so close to capturing, but had failed. Finally, after several minutes, the latter spoke up.

"They'll remember it. Maybe not as a victory, but as a place of bravery and sacrifice" Ingram pointed out.

"Aye, a sacrifice that was all in vain" James muttered back, unable to see beyond the cloud of anguish and despair that was before him.

Ingram let out a sigh. "Not every sacrifice is worth the price that is true. But, if you wish to look at it from another angle, the Marquis fighters in France sacrificed much, most of it in vain, until we arrived, but they never gave up did they?"

The deceased major's words hung in the air. Finally, Doyle let loosed what was truly bothering him.

"What the blood Hell was he thinking? He knew there would be no more boats! He knew it, but he still promised he would be along on the next boat! How could he have been so stubborn? How…" Doyle ranted until Ingram put a hand on Doyle's shoulder again, silencing him.

"He died doing what he felt was right" Gerald said quietly, "we would be better men to respect that".

At these words, Doyle did indeed go silent, and he simply continued to stare at Arnhem. Ingram stood up and began to walk away. As he did however, he turned one last time to look at Doyle.

"Your men feel the same despair as you do. They lost friends as well, after all. So, this is your crossroads, James. Will you drown in your own darkness, and thus leave your men to drown in theirs? Or will you rise to the occasion and pull yourself out as well as keep your men afloat? The choice is yours" and with that, Ingram disappeared.

Doyle gazed at the spot where the former major had been, and then shifted his eyes back to Arnhem. He spent the next fifteen minutes pondering over Ingram's words as he continued to stare at Arnhem. At last, with his resolve renewed, the major stood up and began walking into the village until he came to the main staging area where most of the survivors of Oosterbeek were gathered.

"RIGHT THEN, ALL SAS MEN GATHER ROUND!" he shouted as he climbed on top of a large pile of crates.

Though weary, the surviving SAS soldiers gathered around their commanding officer. At first, Doyle said nothing as he waited for all to assemble. When they had, he looked around at the tired, dirty faces that were staring up at him, silently counting each one. Finally, Major Doyle spoke:

"Forty-three, forty-three faces are looking up at me now. When we left to drop into Arnhem, there were two-'undred of us. But I will say this now: there is not one man standing before me that did not give everything 'e 'ad! Others paid the ultimate price. We lost friends, brothers. And I know those losses are 'ard, especially in the face of defeat. Well, I'm tellin you this right now, we may have suffered a loss. We may not be 'ome by Christmas this year, but if you continue to fight as 'ard as I have seen you fight these last seven days, we'll 'ome long before the next Christmas!"

Doyle paused for effect as the faces looking up at him had begun to brighten at his words.

"So yes, gentlemen, we've lost a battle, but we will win the war! We'll pick ourselves back up and give Gerry such an arse kicking that 'e'll run screaming for 'is mother, and when they even 'ere of the Special Air Service, they'll tremble in fear!"

A great cry of agreement went up among the gathered men.

"So get some rest, men. Prepare for another day, and there will be another day! There be a day when we march right into Berlin. And I'll be there with you every step of the way!" he paused one more time to gaze at the faces, which were no longer mixtures of exhaustion, fear, and despair.

Now, men were gazing up at their leader in awe and determination, some of them were actually grinning.

"GOD SAVE THE KING!" Doyle shouted at the top of his lungs, and the SAS regiment took up the cry.

"GOD SAVE THE KING! GOD SAVE THE KING! GOD SAVE THE KING!"

James gazed out over the cheering men, and noticed Ingram standing off to one side. The former CO nodded to Doyle and smiled. Doyle smiled back, before looking back out at the cheering and chanting men of the SAS regiment.

His SAS regiment…

* * *

_December 27, 1944. Bastogne, Belgium. _

The assault on Christmas day was eventually beaten off by a combined force with light artillery in support. The next day, forward recon units of General Patton's army arrived at Bastogne after breaking the encirclement. With the threat of the rest of Patton's army to follow, the Germans had retreated. The Siege of Bastogne was over.

Due to the fact that he had been wounded, Nichols had received word that he was to be sent to a hospital in Paris to recuperate. Huxley however, was to remain on the front line (the 101st Airborne as well as Patton's army had been ordered to go on the offensive and push back the German line). Now, the two friends sat near the departure area, talking together for what may have been the last time.

"When you get to Paris, you better send me a bottle of wine" Huxley was reminding Nichols.

The latter let out a laugh. "I will if I can find out what address to send it to".

"Germany, where else?"

They both laughed that nervous kind of laugh when you know you're lucky to have survived an ordeal. After a few minutes, Huxley's face became somber again and he reached into his pack.

"I uh, I went back to the tank after the battle was over. This was all I could find" he pulled out a helmet with a distinctive dent in the side.

Nichols felt his stomach drop as he recognized the piece of head gear. It had been Guzzo's. Reaching up from where he was leaning, Jack took the helmet and stared at it sadly.

"If I could have taken his place, I would have" he whispered.

"You and me both" Huxley replied in a quiet voice.

"Nicholson, let's go, we're moving out" a lieutenant shouted from a nearby truck.

Huxley and Nichols exchanged a glance. The southerner helped his wounded comrade to his feet and Nichols was about to head to the truck when Huxley stopped him.

"One more thing" he said as he rummaged around in his pack again. To Nichols's surprise, Huxley pulled out the can of cherries that Guzzo had given them for Christmas.

"You should have this" said Leroy, holding he can out to Jack.

However, Nichols simply pushed the can back toward Huxley. "I'm going to Paris, you're going to Germany. You're gonna need that can more than me" he said simply before hobbling toward the truck.

Huxley watched him get on the truck, and continued to watch as it drove off down the road toward France. As the truck drove away, the Louisianan threw the can of cherries off to the side with a sigh.

Nichols continued to stare at the city as the truck drove away from it. Even when they reached the open countryside he still looked back at the smoking ruin that was Bastogne.

"Hard to believe we made it, isn't it?" a familiar voice said suddenly, and Nichols turned to see the grinning face of Ballard.

"Ballard, you're alive" the latter exclaimed in surprise.

The young read-headed private had a bandage wrapped around the shoulder that Kelly had shot him in, but beyond that, he looked alright.

"It takes more than a bullet to take a Tennessee boy down" the private bragged.

Nichols laughed as he looked back at Bastogne.

"Any of the others make it?" Ballard inquired after a few minutes.

"Guzzo didn't" Nichols replied in a mournful tone.

"Damn, I'm sorry".

"Yeah, me too" said Nichols, remembering when Guzzo had given him the exact same reply when he had said he was sorry about Guzzo's father.

"Me too".

Nichols saw the explosions in the distance just beyond Bastogne, and knew that that must be Germany.

"We came so far" he thought as the truck drove on,

"So far beyond Normandy".

* * *

_Well, we have only one more chapter after this, and that's the epilogue. Man, this was a long road to get this story finished but I think it was worth it. Read and review please. Cheers. _


	26. Epilogue

_Okay, so I don't get sued or anything, I would just like to say right now: the descriptions about the battles and their aftermaths are Historically accurate. However, the biographies of the main characters are completley fictional and any relation to anyone living or dead is **purely coincidental**. Just wanted to get that out of the way._

* * *

Chapter 25

Epilogue

_Operation Market Garden was officially declared a failure in September 24, seven days after it was put into effect. The failure of the operation itself was linked to several factors, some of the most key of which were: the XXX Corps's inability to stay in schedule due to attacks all along the corridor to Nijmegen, faulty intelligence which made the 1__st__ Parachute Brigade think it was going to be fighting much weaker units than it actually did, and a breakdown in communication between the Battalions of Arnhem and the RAF. The operation resulted in 15,000-17,000 killed, wounded, or captured in only seven days of fighting. Of these loses 8,838 of them were from the 1__st__ Parachute Brigade at Arnhem. _

_Major James Doyle continued his career in the SAS, and led his regiment into the Ruhr Valley in Germany during the last months of the war. After Germany's surrender and the war's end, Major Doyle would continue to train SAS soldiers at Hereford (among whom was a young Captain Macmillan) until his retirement at age 57. He was recommended for the Victoria Cross, but turned it down. _

_Contrary to Doyle's beliefs, Sergeant Duncan Keith was not killed at Arnhem, but was taken prisoner after the evac zone was overrun. He would spend the rest of the war in a POW camp in southern Germany. After the camps liberation in April of 1945, Keith returned home to Scotland where he was hailed as a hero by his hometown. Doyle and Keith stayed in touch after his liberation, and continued to be close friends until the end of their days. _

_Major Gerald Ingram remains the only SAS officer to be posthumously awarded the George Cross. His name was among the first to placed on the clock tower at Hereford, and is still seen today. _

_The Battle of the Bulge was the last major German offensive of the war. It officially came to an end in January of 1945. Germany would surrender four months later. The Allied holding of Bastogne has been credited as one of the major factors that caused the Ardennes Offensive to fail, as the control of the city's crossroads severely hampered German armor movements. The siege itself resulted in 3,000 allied casualties. The exact number of German casualties in unknown, but some regiments reported as bad as 50% casualties, so they are believed to be high as well. _

_Leroy Huxley was promoted to Corporal for his service in Germany, and returned home to Louisiana after its surrender. Despite having been a street urchin before the war, Huxley went to university on the G.I. Bill and later became a successful engineer with the Boeing Aircraft Company. He remained close friends with Jack Nicholson and Christopher Ballard. _

_Private Christopher Ballard survived his wound and returned home to the United States a changed man. The horrors of war remained fresh in his mind, and he became an ardent protestor of the Vietnam War. _

_Sergeant Jack Nicholson returned home after Germanys surrender. It was a very bittersweet homecoming as, while his longtime love interest Laura agreed to marry him, Jack also learned that his brother Robert was killed during his service on Okinawa. Jack traveled to Boston to inform Guzzo's mother of her son's death. The two would remain correspondents until Ms. Guzzo's death. Jack would go on to become a successful writer and a well loved family man. He and Laura had two children, a boy and a girl, and the boy would later go on to serve in the Vietnam War. In the end, Jack's most famous book was his memoirs of the war: _The Call of Duty_. This book would hold his most famous line: _

"When it all came down to it, we weren't fighting for our country, we we're fighting for each other".

The End

* * *

_Well, there you have it. Did you like the story? I enjoyed writing it. Anyway, the winner of the poll is in: it's **Above and Beyond**. I will begin working on the story's outline straight away and should have the first few chapters up in a little under a month. For those of you who loyally read and reviewd (i.e. Trainalf, video games and stuff, and DeltaG) I look foward to reading your reviews for Above and Beyond. Happy reading and happy writing. Cheers._


	27. Author's note

Hello there folks. This is just a brief notice informing you that Above and Beyond is now up (well the first chapter anyway). However, it is rated M so you'll have to set the filter off in order to find it. Happy reading. Cheers.

P.s. for those of you who voted for the Vietnam story, DeltaG has graciously offered to write it himself. The name of the story is Justified, and the first two chapters are already up to read. Just wanted to mention it.


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